1. 1. 1. 1. III. 1. 1, 1, 1. I.I. 1, 1. 1 1. 1. 1. 1. 1, 1, 1. 1. 1, 1, 1. 1. 1. 1, 1. 1. 1. III. 1. 1. 1.1 


nLrlBEt^HY 


SI 


Voi..27-''^.. 

Class  JVo. .  1.16  R . . .  'X^ 

Cost..y:CL...       ^'^'^ 


(Dale .•'..  .18 f. 


v  l.g  > 


r:;i.i.i.i.i.i.iii..i.i. i.i.i.i.i.i.iiiiiiii.i.iii.i.i.i.iii|ii|ii'i^i'ii|ii[ 


3n(o5,u.i,c, 


BOOK     170.9.L495   V.  1    c.  1 
LECKY    #    HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN 
MORALS    FROM    AUGUSTUS    TO 


3    TliSB    D0DbE7E7    5 


«l"v'    iO 


EUEOPEAN    MORALS 

VOL.  L 


HISTORY 


OF 


EUROPEAN     MOBALS 


FROM  AUGUSTUS  TO  CHARLEMAGNE 


BY 


WILLIAM    EDWARD    HARTPOLE    LECKY,    M.A 


THIRD     EDITION,     UEVISKD 


IN    TWO     VOLUMES 
VOL.  I 


NEW  YORK: 
D.    APPLET  ON     AND    COMPANY, 
1895. 


ADVEETISEMENT 


THE      THIED      EDITION 


r  HAVE  availed  myself  of  the  interval  since  the  last 
edition,  to  subject  this  book  to  a  minute  and  careful 
revision,  removing  such  inaccuracies  as  I  have  been  able 
myself  to  discover,  as  well  as  those  which  have  been 
brought  under  my  notice  by  reviewers  or  correspondents. 
I  must  especially  acknowledge  the  great  assistance  I 
have  derived  in  this  task  from  my  Grerman  translator, 
Dr.  H.  Jolovvicz — now,  unhappily,  no  more — one  of  the 
most  conscientious  and  accurate  scholars  with  whom  I 
have  ever  been  in  communication.  In  the  controver- 
sial part  of  the  first  chapter,  which  has  given  rise  to  a 
good  deal  of  angry  discussion,  four  or  five  lines  which 
stood  in  the  former  editions  have  been  omitted,  and 
three  or  four  short  passages  have  been  inserted,  eluci- 
dating or  supporting  positions  which  had  been  misun- 
derstood or  contested. 

January  1877. 


PEE  FACE 


liiE  questions  with  which  an  historian  of  Morals  is 
chiefly  concerned  are  the  changes  that  have  taken 
place  in  the  moral  standard  and  in  the  moral  type. 
By  the  first,  I  understand  the  degrees  in  which,  in 
different  ages,  recognised  virtues  have  been  enjoined 
and  practised.  By  the  second,  I  understand  the  rela- 
tive importance  that  in  different  ages  has  been 
attached  to  different  virtues.  Thus,  for  example,  a 
Roman  of  the  age  of  Pliny,  an  Englishman  of  the  age 
of  Henry  VIII.,  and  an  Englishman  of  our  own  day, 
would  all  agree  in  regarding  humanity  as  a  virtue,  and 
its  opposite  as  a  vice  ;  but  their  judgments  of  the  acts 
which  are  compatible  with  a  humane  disposition  would 
be  widely  different.  A  humane  man  of  the  first  period 
might  derive  a  keen  enjoyment  from  those  gladiatorial 
games,  which  an  Englishman,  even  in  the  days  of  the 
Tudors,  would  regard  as  atrociously  barbarous  ;  and 
this  last  would,  in  his  turn,  acouiesce  in  many  sports 


VIU  PREFACE. 

which  would  now  be  emphatically  coD.demned.  And, 
in  addition  to  this  change  of  standard,  there  is  a  con- 
tinual change  in  the  order  of  precedence  which  is 
given  to  virtues.  Patriotism,  chastity,  charity,  and 
humility  are  examples  of  virtues,  each  of  which  has  in 
some  ages  been  brought  forward  as  of  the  most 
supreme  and  transcendent  importance,  and  the  very 
basis  of  a  virtuous  character,  and  in  other  ages  been 
thrown  into  the  background,  and  reckoned  among  the 
minor  graces  of  a  noble  life.  The  heroic  virtues,  the 
amiable  virtues,  and  what  are  called  more  especially 
the  religious  virtues,  form  distinct  groups,  to  which,  in 
different  periods,  different  degrees  of  prominence  have 
been  assigned ;  and  the  nature,  causes,  and  conse- 
quences of  these  changes  in  the  moral  type  are  among 
the  most  important  branches  of  history. 

In  estimating,  however,  the  moral  condition  of  an 
age,  it  is  not  sufficient  to  examine  the  ideal  of  moral- 
ists. It  is  necessary  also  to  enquire  how  far  that  ideal 
has  been  realised  among  the  people.  The  corruption 
of  a  nation  is  often  reflected  in  the  indulgent  and 
selfish  ethics  of  its  teachers ;  but  it  sometimes  pro- 
duces a  reaction,  and  impels  the  moralist  to  an  ascetic- 
ism which  is  the  extreme  opposite  of  the  prevailing 
spirit  of  society.  The  means  which  moral  teachers 
possess  of  acting  upon  their  fellows,  vary  greatly  in 
their  nature  and  efficacy,  and  the  age  of  the  highest 
moral  teaching  is  often  not  that  of  the  highest  general 


PREFACE  IX 

level  of  practice.  Sometimes  we  find  a  kind  of  aris- 
tocracy of  virtue,  exhibiting  the  most  refined  excel- 
lence in  their  teaching*  and  in  their  actioni;,  but 
exercising  scarcely  any  appreciable  influence  upon  the 
mass  of  the  community.  Sometimes  we  find  moralists 
of  a  much  less  heroic  order,  whose  influence  has  per- 
meated every  section  of  society.  In  addition,  therefore, 
to  the  type  and  standard  of  morals  inculcated  by  the 
teachers,  an  historian  must  investigate  the  realised 
morals  of  the  people. 

The  three  questions  f  have  now  briefly  indicated 
are  those  which  I  have  especially  regarded  in  examin- 
ing the  moral  history  of  Europe  between  Augustus 
and  Charlemagne.  As  a  preliminary  to  this  enquiry,  I 
have  discussed  at  some  length  the  rival  theories  con- 
cerning the  nature  and  obligations  of  morals,  and  have 
also  endeavoured  to  show  what  virtues  are  especially 
appropriate  to  each  successive  stage  of  civilisation,  in 
order  that  we  may  afterwards  ascertain  to  what  extent 
the  natural  evolution  has  been  affected  by  special 
agencies.  I  have  then  followed  the  moral  history  of 
the  Pagan  Empire,  reviewing  the  Stoical,  tlie  Eclectic, 
and  the  Egyptian  philosophies,  that  in  turn  flourished, 
showing  in  what  respects  they  were  the  products  or  ex- 
pressions of  the  general  condition  of  society,  tracing 
their  influence  in  many  departments  of  legislation  and 
literature,  and  investigating  the  causes  of  the  deep- 
seated    corruption    which    baffled     all    the    efforts    of 


X  PREFACE, 

emperors  and  philosophers.  The  triumph  of  the 
Christian  religion  in  Europe  next  demands  our  atten- 
tion. In  treating  this  subject,  I  have  endeavoured,  for 
the  most  part,  to  exclude  all  considerations  of  a  purely 
theological  or  controversial  character,  all  discussions 
concerning  the  origin  of  the  faith  in  Palestine,  and 
concerning  the  first  type  of  its  doctrine,  and  to  regard 
the  Churcli  simply  as  a  moral  agent,  exercising  its  in- 
fluence in  Europe.  Confining  myself  within  these 
limits,  I  have  examined  the  manner  in  which  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  Pagan  Empire  impeded  or  assisted 
its  growth,  the  nature  of  the  opposition  it  had  to 
encounter,  the  transformations  it  underwent  under  the 
influence  of  prosperity,  of  the  ascetic  enthusiasm,  and 
of  the  barbarian  invasions,  and  the  many  ways  in 
which  it  determined  the  moral  condition  of  society. 
The  growing  sense  of  the  sanctity  of  human  life,  the 
history  of  charity,  the  formation  of  the  legends  of  the 
hagiology,  the  effects  of  asceticism  upon  civic  and 
domestic  virtues,  the  moral  influence  of  monasteries, 
the  ethics  of  the  intellect,  the  virtues  and  vices  of  the 
decaying  Cliristian  Empire  and  of  the  barbarian  king- 
doms that  replaced  it,  the  gradual  apotheosis  of  secular 
rank,  and  the  first  stages  of  that  military  Christianity 
which  attained  its  climax  at  the  Crusades,  have  been 
all  discussed  with  more  or  less  detail ;  and  I  have 
concluded  my  work  by  reviewing  the  changes  that 
have  taken  place  in  the  position   of  women,  and    in 


PREFACE.  XI 

tbe  moral  questions  connected  with    the    relations  of 
the  sexes. 

In  investigating  these  numerous  subjects,  it  has 
occasionally,  though  rarely,  happened  that  my  path 
has  intersected  that  which  I  had  pursued  in  a  f(/rmer 
work,  and  in  two  or  three  instances  I  have  not  hesi- 
tated to  repeat  facts  to  which  I  had  tliere  briefly 
referred.  T  have  thought  that  such  a  course  was 
preferable  to  presenting  the  subject  shorn  of  some 
material  incident,  or  to  falling  into  what  has  always 
the  appearance  of  an  unpleasing  egotism,  by  appealing 
unnecessarily  to  my  own  writings.  Although  the 
history  of  the  period  I  have  traced  has  never,  so  far  as 
I  am  aware,  been  written  from  exactly  the  point  of 
view  which  I  have  adopted,  I  have,  of  course,  been  for 
the  most  part  moving  over  familiar  ground,  which 
has  been  often  and  ably  investigated ;  and  any  origin- 
ality that  may  be  found  in  tliis  work  must  lie,  not  so 
much  in  the  facts  which  have  been  exhumed,  as  in  the 
manner  in  which  they  have  been  grouped,  and  in  the 
significance  that  has  been  ascribed  to  them.  I  have 
endeavoured  to  acknowledge  the  more  important  works 
from  which  I  have  derived  assistance  ;  and  if  I  have 
not  always  done  so,  I  trust  the  reader  will  ascribe  it  to 
the  great  multitude  of  the  special  histories  relating 
to  the  subjects  I  have  treated,  to  my  unwillingness 
to  overload  my  pages  with  too  numerous  references,  and 
perhaps,  in  some  cases,  to  the  difficulty  that  all  whc 


XW  PREFACE. 

nave  been  much  occupied  with  a  single  department 
of  history  must  sometimes  have,  in  distinguishing 
the  ideas  which  have  sprung  from  their  own  reflec- 
tions, from  those  which  have  been  derived  from 
books. 

There  is  one  writer,  however,  whom  I  must  especi- 
ally mention,  for  his  name  occurs  continually  in  the 
following  pages,  and  his  memory  has  been  more  fre- 
quently, and  in  these  latter  months  more  sadly,  present 
to  my  mind  than  any  other.  Brilliant  and  numerous 
as  are  the  works  of  the  late  Dean  Milman,  it  was  those 
only  who  had  the  great  privilege  of  his  friendship,  who 
could  fully  realise  the  amazing  extent  and  variety  of 
his  knowledge  ;  the  calm,  luminous,  and  delicate  judg- 
ment which  he  carried  into  so  many  spheres ;  the 
inimitable  grace  and  tact  of  his  conversation,  corus- 
cating with  the  happiest  anecdotes,  and  the  brightest 
and  yet  the  gentlest  humour ;  and,  what  was  per- 
liaps  more  remarkable  than  any  single  faculty,  the 
admirable  harmony  and  symmetry  of  his  mind  and 
character,  so  free  from  all  the  disproportion,  and  ec- 
centricity, and  exaggeration  that  sometimes  make 
even  genius  assume  the  form  of  a  splendid  disease. 
They  can  never  forget  those  yet  higher  attributes, 
which  rendered  him  so  unspeakably  reverend  to  all 
who  knew  him  well — his  fervent  love  of  truth,  his  wide 
tolerance,    his  large,    generous,  and    masculine  judg. 


PREFACE.  XUl 

ments  of  men  aud  things ;  bis  almost  instinctive  per- 
ception of  the  good  that  is  latent  in  each  opposing 
party,  his  disdain  for  the  noisy  triumphs  and  the 
fleeting  popularity  of  mere  sectarian  strife,  the  fond 
and  toucliing  affection  with  which  he  dwelt  upon  the 
images  of  t?ie  past,  combining,  even  in  extreme  old 
age,  with  the  keenest  and  most  hopeful  insight  into 
the  progressive  movements  of  his  time,  and  with  a  rare 
power  of  winning  the  confidence  and  reading  the 
thoughts  of  the  youngest  about  him.  That  such  a 
writer  should  have  devoted  himself  to  the  department 
of  history,  which  more  than  any  other  has  been  dis- 
torted by  ignorance,  puerility,  and  dishonesty,  I  con- 
ceive to  be  one  of  the  liappiest  facts  in  English 
literature,  and  (though  sometimes  divei-ging  from  his 
views)  in  many  parts  of  the  following  work  I  have 
largely  availed  myself  of  his  researches. 

I  cannot  conceal  from  myself  that  this  book  is 
likely  to  encounter  much,  and  probably  angry,  con- 
tradiction from  different  quarters  and  on  different 
grounds.  It  is  strongly  opposed  to  a  school  of  moral 
philosophy  which  is  at  present  extremely  influential 
in  England ;  and,  in  addition  to  the  many  faults  tliat 
may  be  found  in  its  execution,  its  very  plan  must 
make  it  displeasing  to  many.  Its  subject  necessarily 
includes  questions  on  which  it  is  exceedingly  difficult 
for  an   English  writer    to   touch,  and    the  portion  of 


XIV  PrtEEACE. 

hifetory  with  which  it  is  concerned  has  been  obscured 
by  no  common  measure  of  misrepresentation  and 
passion.  I  have  endeavoured  to  carry  into  it  a  judi- 
cial impartiality,  and  I  trust  that  the  attempt,  however 
imperfect,  may  not  be  wholly  useless  to  my  readers. 

LoxDos  :  March  186S. 


CONTENTS 

OF 

THE    FIRST    VOLUME. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF   MORALS. 

PAGM 

Fundamental  division  of  moral  theories 1 

Necessity  of  imputing  immoral  consequences  to  false  theories    .    .  2 

The  Utilitarian  School 

Mandeville 6 

Hobbes  and  his  followers 7 

Theological  Utilitarians 14 

Enlargement  of  the  school  by  the  recognition  of  benevolence  .  21 

And  by  Hartley's  doctrine  of  association 22 

How  far  selfish •      .         .         ,         .30 

Objections  to  the  School 

From  the  common  language  and  feelings  of  men           .         .    .  33 
From  the  impossibility  uf  virtue  bringing  pleasure  if  practised 

only  with  that  end 35 

From  the  separation  of  morals  from  all  other  means  to  enjoy- 
ment       37 

Intuitive  moralists  do  not  deny  the  utility  of  virtue        .         .  39 
The  degrees  of  virtue  and  vice  do  not  correspond  to  the  degrees 

of  utility  or  the  reverse 40 


K\l  CONTENTS    OF 

PAGK 

Consequence  of  Acting  on  Utiliiarian  Principles 

Weakness  of  the  doctrine  of  remote  consequencps              .         .  42 

Secret  sins 43 

Sins  of  imagination 44 

Infanticide           .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .    .  45 

Cruelty  tc  animals 46 

Chastity              . 49 

Love  of  truth 60 

a  Hit  avian  Savctions 

Theological  Utilitarianism  makes  the  '  goodness  of  God  '  an  un 

meaning  term        .........  54 

Destroys  a  chief  argument,  for  a  future  life     .         .         .         .54 

Subverts  natural  religion 54-55 

How  far  Supreme  excellence  is  conducive  tn  happiness    .         .  57 

The  suffering  caused  by  vice  not  proportioned  to  its  criminality  61 

The  rewards  and  punishments  of  conscience         .         .         .    .  62 

Nature  of  obligations 64 

The  best  men  seldom  the  happiest 69 

Summary  of  objections             .......  69 

Cause  of  the  attraction  of  Utilitarianism 71 

Ambiguity  of  the  term  inductive  as  applied  to  morals      .         .  73 

Intuitive  School 

Doctrines  of  Butler,  Adam  Smith,  Cudworth,  Clarke.  Wollaston, 

H\:tcheson,  Henry  More,  Reid,  Hume,  and  Lord  Kames     76-77 

The  analogies  of  beauty  and  virtue 77 

Their  differences 82 

Illustrations  of  the  distinction  between  the  higher  and  lower 

parts  of  our  nature 83 

Ethical  importance  of  this  distinction  .         .         .         .91 

Mleged  Diversities  of  Moral  Judgment 

Are  frequently  due  to  intellectual  causes. — Usury  and  abortion  92 
Distinction  between  natural  duties  and  those  resting  on  posi- 
tive law 93 

Ancient  customs  canonised  by  time. — On  women  drinking  wine  93 

Confused  association  of  ideas. — Admiration  for  conquerors  .    .  94 

Calvinistic  ethics 96 

Persecution ^^ 

Antipathy  to  free  enquiry       .         .                   ....  98 

V 


THE   FIRST   YOLUME.  XV 11 

PAGK 

General  moral  principles  alone  revealed  by  intuition  .  .  99 
The  moral  unity  of  diiFerent  ages  is  therefore  a  unity  not  of 

standard,  hut  of  tendency 100 

Application  of  this  to  the  history  of  benevolence     .         .         .  100 

Utilitarian  objections  which  it  answers        .         .         .         .    .  101 

Intuitive  morals  not  unprogrcssive          .....  102 

Sketch  of  the  history  of  chastity 108 

Answers  to  miscellaneous  objections  .....  108 
The  standard,  though  not  the  essence,  of  virtue  determined  by 

the  condition  of  society          .         .         .         .         .         .    .  109 

Occasional  duty  of  sacrificing  higher  principles  to  lower  ones  .  110 
The  difficulty  of  finding  a  fixed  rule  for  these  cases  applies  to 

the  Utilitarian  as  well  as  his  opponent 116 

Summary  of  the  relations  of  virtue  and  interest      .         .         .117 

Two  senses  of  the  word  natural 119 

The  ethics  of  savages 120 

Each  of  the  Two  Schools  of  Morals  related  to  the  General  Condition 

of  Society 

Their  relations  to  metaphysical  schools 122 

To  the  Baconian  philosophy. — Contrast  between  ancient  and 

modern  civilisation 125 

Practical  consequences  of  each  school 127 

The  Order  in  which  Moral  Feelings  are  developed 

Decline  of  ascetic  and  saintly  qualities 130 

Growth  of  the  gentler  virtues. — Relation  of  the  imagination 

to  benevolence       .........  132 

Callous  and  vindictive  cruelty         ......  134 

Indulgent  judgments  towards  criminals 135 

Moral  enthusiasms  appropriate  to  different  stages  of  civilisation  1 36 
Growth  of  veracity — industrial,  political,  and  philosophical  137-140 

Theological  influences  have  retarded  the  last  .  .  .  .  139 
The  thrifty  and  the  speculating  character        .         .         ,         .140 

Forethought 140 

Decline  of  reverence 141 

Female  virtue 143 

Influenced  by  climate 144 

By  large  towns 146 

By  tardy  marriages 146 

2 


SMll  CONTENTS    OF 

PAGl 

Each  stage  cf  civilisation  is  specially  nppropriate  to  some 

virtues  ...........     147 

Eclations  of  intellectual  to  moral  progress      .         .         .         .149 

The  moral  standard  of  most  men  lower  in  political  than  in 

private  judgments 150 

National  vices         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .151 

Qualities  of  corporations 152 

French  and  English  types 1.53 

The  manner  in  which  virtues  are  grouped 153 

Rudimentary  virtues 154 

All  characters  cannot  be  moulded  into  one  type  .         .         .    .     155 
Concluding  remarks  on  moral  types 155-160 


CHAPTER  IT. 

THE      PAGAN     EMPIRE. 

Pagan  religion  had  little  influence  on  morals       .         .         .    .     161 

Greek  scepticism 161 

Its  extension  to  Rome — Opinions  of  the  philosophers      .      162-167 
Roman  religion  never  a  source  of  moral  enthusiasm     .         .    .     167 

Inroad  of  luxury 168 

Growth  of  astrological  fatalism 171 

Philosophers  the  true  moral  teachers      .  .         .         .171 

Epicureanism  and  Stoicism  the  expression  of  different  types  of 

character 172 

Military  and  patriotic  enthusiasm  formed  in  Rome  the  Stoical 

type 172 

The  predisposition  strengthened  by  the  prominence  of  bio- 
graphy in  moral  '■.caching  .         .         .         .         .         .174 

Epicureanism  \iever  became  a  school  of  virtue  in  Rome       .    .     175 
Its  function  destructive 176--177 

Stoicism 

Its  two  essentials. — The  unselfish  ideal,  and  the  subjugation  of 

the  affections  to  the  reason 17i 

The  first  due  to  patriotism,  the  most  unselfish  of  enthusiasms     178 

Four  possible  mot  ives  of  virtue 178 

Stoicism  the  best  example  of  the  perfect  severance  of  virtue 

and  interest  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .181 


THE    FIRST    VOLUME.  XIX 

PAGB 

Stoics  disregarded  or  disbelieved  in  a  future  world  .         .     181-183 

Taught  men  to  sacrifice  reputation 185 

IHstinguished  the  obligation  from  the  attraction  of  virtue        .  186 

The  second  characteiistic,  the  repression  of  the  desires  ,  .  187 
Deliberate    virtue  the  most  estimable — impulsive  virtue  the 

most  attractive      .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .    .  188 

Doctrine  of  Seneca  concerning  Pity ]89 

Evil  consequences  resultiugfrom  the  suppression  of  the  emotions  191 

Hardness  of  character 192 

Love  of  paradox 192 

Many  noted  Stoics  whose  lives  were  very  imperfect     .         .    .  193 

Stoicism  unfitted  for  common  characters  ....  194 
Its  high  sense  of  the  natural  virtue  of  man  and  of  the  power 

of  his  will 195 

Recognition  of  Providence      .......  198 

The  habits  of  public  life  saved  Stoics  from  quietism   .         .    .  199 

Contemplation  of  death. — Bacon's  objection  to  the  Stoics         .  202 

The  literature  of  '  Conj^olations  ' 204 

Death  not  regarded  as  penal  . 205 

Pagan  death-beds        .........  205 

Distinction  between  the  Pagan  and  Christian  conceptions  of 

death 208 

Suicide 212 

Grandeur  of  the  Stoical  ideal 222 

Kecapitulation 223 

Contrast  between  the  austerity  of  Roman  Stoicism  and  the 

luxury  of  Roman  society        .         .         .         .         .         .    .  225 

Growth  of  a  Gentler  and  more  Cosmopolitan  Spirit  in  Bovm 

Due  first  of  all  to  the  union  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  civilisa- 
tions.— Gentleness  of  the  Greek  character          .         .         .  227 
Greek  cosmopolitanism  due  to  philosophical  criticism  and  to 

the  career  of  Alexander 229 

Extent  of  Greek  influence  at  Rome  .....  230 
A  cosmopolitan  spirit  strengthened  by  the  destruction  of  the 

power  of  the  aristocracy 231 

And  by  the  aggrandisement  of  the  colonies,  the  attraction  of 
many  foreigners  to  Rome,  and  the  increased  facilities  for 

travelling 233 

Foreigners  among  the  most  prominent  of  Latin  writers        .    .  234 


KX  CONTENTS   OF 

PAGB 

Mullitxide  of  emancipated  slaves 235 

Eoman  legislators  endeavoured  to  consolidate  the  Empire  by 

admitting  the  conquered  to  the  privileges  of  the  conqnerots  237 
Stoicism  proved  quite  cnpable  of  representing  the  cosmopolitan 

spirit 239 

Bat  not  equally  so  of  representing  the  softening  spiritof  the  age  241 

Bise  of  Eclectic  Moralists 

Comparison  of  Plutarch  and  Seneca 243 

Influence  of  the  new  spirit  on  the  Stoics           ....  244 

Stoicism  became  more  religious            .         .         .         .         .    .  245 

And  more   introspective.-  History  of    the   practice  of    self- 
examination       247 

Marcus  Aurelius  the  best  example  of  later  Stoicism. — His 

life  and  character 249 

The  People  still  very  corrnpt. — Causes  of  the  Corruption 

Decadence  of  all  the  conditions  of  republican  virtue         .         ,  256 
Effects  of  the  Imperial  system  on  morals — the  apotheosis  of 

emperors 257 

Moral  consequences  of  slavery. — Increase  of  idleness  and  de- 
moralising employments 262 

And  of  sensuality 263 

Decline  of  public  spirit 264 

Universal  empire  prevented  the  political  interaction  which  iu 

modern  nations  sustains  national  life     .         .         .         .    .  264 

History  of  the  decline  of  agricultural  pursuits  and  habits        .  265 

And  of  military  rirtue 268 

The  gladiatorial  shows — their  origin  and  history    .         .         ,271 

Their  effects  upon  the  theatre     .         .         .         .         .         .    .  277 

Nature  of  their  attraction 278 

Horrible  excesses  they  attained 280 

The  manner  in  -which  their  influence  pervaded  Eoman  life      .  282 

How  they  were  regarded  by  moralists  and  historians  .         .    .  284 
The  passion  for  them  not  inconsistent  with  humanity  in  other 

spheres 288 

Effect) .)/  Stoic-ism  on  ike  Corruption  of  Society 

It  raised  up  many  good  emperors 292 

It  produced  a  noble  opposition  under  the  worst  emperors         .  292 


THE    FIRST    VOLUME.  XXI 

PAGM 

It  greatly  extended  Roman  law 294 

Ruman  law  adopted  the  stoical  conception  of  a  law  of  nature 

to  which  it  must  conform 294 

Its  principles  of  equity  derived  froni  Stoicism          .         .         .  295 

Change  in  the  relation  of  Romans  to  provincials          .         .    .  197 

Changes  in  domestic  legislation *07 

Slavery — its  three  stages  at  Rome. — Review  of  the  condition 

of  slaves 300 

Opinions  of  philosophers  about  slavery    .....  305 

Laws  in  favour  of  slaves     ........  306 

Stoics  as  consolers  of  the  suffering,   advisers  of  the  young, 

and  popular  preachers 308 

The  later  Cynics  an  offshoot  of  Stoicism          ....  309 

Stoical  Rhetoricians 310 

Maximus  of  Tyre 312 

Dion  Chrysostom        .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .    .  312 

Aulus  Gellius,  the  best  chronicler  of  the  Rhetoricians     .         .  313 

Rapid  decadence  of  Stoicism        .         .         .         .         .         .    .  317 

Passion  for  Oriental  Bcligions 

Mysticism  partly  a  reaction  against  the  disputations  of  the 

Rhetoricians."  Modern  parallels 318 

Partly  due  to  the  increasing  prominence  given  by  moralists  to 

the  emotions     .........  318 

And  partly  to  the  influx  of  Oriental  slaves  and  the  increasing 

importance  of  Alexandria 319 

But  chiefly  to  a  natural  longing  for  belief       ....  319 

The  Platonic  and  Pythagorean  schools 320 

Plutarch's  defence  of  the  ancient  creeds  .         .         .         .321 

Maximus  of  Tyre  pursues  the  same  course 322 

Apuleius 323 

Contrast  of  the  Greek  and  Egyptian  spirits          .         .         .    .  32+ 

Difference  betweer  the  stoical  and  the  Egyptian  pantheism     .  325 

Vco'platonii'in 

Destroys  active  A-irtue  and  a  critical  spirit           .         .         t    .  329 

The  doctrine  of  daemons  supersedes  the  stoical  naturalism        .  330 

JSew  doctrine  concerning  suicide 331 

Increasing  belief  in  another  life      ...                   .         .  331 

Fusion  of  philosophy  with  religion 332 

Summary  of  the  whole  chapter 332-33*» 


KXn  CONTENTS   OF 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE    CONVERSION    OF   ROME. 

PAGE 

Unconsciousness  of  the  moral  importance  of  Christianity  mani- 
fested by  Pagan  writers 336 

Due  to  the  separation  in  antiquity  of  religion  and  morals         .  338 

Three  popular  errors  concerning  the  conversron  of  Eome     .    .  339 

Fjcamijiation  of  the  Theory  which  ascribes  Part  of  the  Teaching 
of  the  later  Pagan  Moralists  to  Christian  Influence 

Two   opinions   ia    the    early    Church   concerning   the   Pagan 

writings 343 

The 'seminal  logos' 344 

Pagan  writings  supposed  to  be  plagiarisms  from  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, or  to  be  receptacles  of  demoniacal  traditions         .    .     345 

But  these  theories  were  applied  only  to  the  ancient  Greek 

writers,  and  not  to  contemporary  moralists   .         .         .    .     346 

Theory  which  attributes  the   Conversion  of  the  Empire  to  the 

Evidences  of  Miracles 
To  estimate  this  it  is  necessary  to  review  the  causes  of  the 

belief  in  miracles 346 

Rapid  decline  of  the  belief 347 

Miracles  not  impossible       ........     348 

Established  by  much  evidence 348 

The  histories  of  them  naturally  fade  with  education    .         .    .     349 

Illustrated  by  the  belief  in  fairies 349 

The  savage  regards  the  whole  world  as  governed  by  isolated 

acts  of  interventijii  S50 

Latent  fetishism 350 

Feebleness  of  the  imagination  a  source  of  legends — myths  .    .     350 
Miraculous  stories  the  natural  expression  of  a  certain  theory 

of  the  universe 351 

Education  destroys  these   stories  by  teaching  men  to  exact 

greater  severity  of  proof 351 

By  strengthening  their  power  of  abstraction,  and  thus  closing 

the  age  of  myths 353 

By  physical  science,  which  establishes  the  reign  of  law  .  353 


THE   FIRST   VOLUME.  Xxiii 

PAoa 

Tlireo  ways  in  which  physical  science  aftects  the  belief  in 

miracles         ..........  354 

Theological  notions  about  rain  and  epidemics          .         ,         .  356 

Sphere  of  inductive  reasoning  in  theology            .         .         .    .  357 

Common  error  in  reasoning  about  miracles     .         .         .         .361 

In  some  states  of  society  this  predisposition  towards  the  mi- 
raculous is  so  strong  as  to  accumulate  round  legends  more 
evidence  than  is  required  to  establish  even  improbable  na- 
tural facts 362 

Illustrations  of  this  from  di^-ination,  witchcraft,  and  the  king's 

touch 363 

State  of  opinion  on  this  subject  in  the  Roman  Empire          .    .  365 

Extreme  credulity  even  in  matters  of  natural  history       .         .  369 
Great  increase  of  credulity  through  the  influence  of   Egyptian 

philosophy — miracles  of  the  Pythagorean  school    .         .    .  373 

Attitude  of  Christians  towards  the  Pagan  miracles          .         .  374 
Incapacity  of  the  Christians  of  the  third  century  for  judging 

historic  miracles 375 

Or  for  judijing  prophecies — the  Sibylline  books        .         .         .  376 

Contemporary  Christian  miracles — exorcism        .         .         .    .  377 

Much  despised  by  the  Pagans 383 

On  the  whole,  neither  past  nor  contemporary  Christian  miracles 

had  much  weight  with  the  Pagans 385 

The  progress  of  Christianity  due  to  the  disintegration  of  old 

religions,  and  the  thirst  for  belief  which  was  general     .    ,  386 

Singular  adaptation  of  Christianity  to  the  wants  of  the  time  .  387 

Heroism  it  inspired 390 

The  conversion  of  the  Eoman  Empire  easily  explicable    .         .  393 

Tie  Persecution  the  Church  underwent  not  of  a  Nativre  to  Crush  it 

Persecution  may  have  many  causes     .                   ....  395 

Review  of  the  religious  policy  of  Rome 308 

Reasons  why  the  Christians  were  more  persecuted  than  the 

Jews 407 

The  religious  motive  of  persecution  was  the  belief  that  cala- 

milities  were  a  consequence  of  the  neglect  of  the  gods         ,  407 

History  of  this  belief 408 

Political  persecutions 412 

Charges  of  immorality  brought  against  Christians        .         .    .  414 

Duo  in  a  great  measure  to  the  Jews  and  heretics     .         .         .  416 


XXIV  CONTENTS   OF   THE   FIRST   VOLUME. 

PAGH 

The  disturbance  of  domestic  life  caused  by  female  conversions  418 
Antipathy  of  the  Romans  to  every  system  which  employed 

religious  terrorism 420 

Christifin  intolerance  of  Pagan  worship  .....  422 

And  of  diversity  of  belief 427 

These  causes  fully  explain  the  persecution  of  the  Christians    .  428 

History  of  the  Persecutions 

Persecution  by  Nero  . 429 

By  Domitian 432 

Condition  of  the  Christians  under  the  Antonines         .         .    .  434 
After  Marcus  Aurelius,  Christianity  became  a  great  political 

power 442 

Attitude  of  the  rulers  towards  it,  from  M.  Aurelius  to  Decius  442 

Condition  of  the  Church  at  the  eve  of  the  Decian  persecution  449 

Horrors  of  the  persecution           .         .         .         .         .         .    .  449 

The  catacombs 453 

Troubles  under  G.dlus  and  Valerian. — Gallienus  proclaims  tole- 
ration      454 

Cyprian  to  Demetrianus          .......  455 

Almost  unbroken  peace  till  Diocletian 458 

His  character  and  persecution 458 

Galerius 459 

Close  of  the  persecutions 463 

General  considerations  on  their  hittory 464 


HISTOEY 

OF 

EUROPEAN    MOEALS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE    NATURAL    HISTORY   OF    MORALS. 

A  BRIEF  ENQUIRY  iiito  the  nature  and  foundations  of  morals 
appears  an  obvious,  and,  indeed,  almost  an  indispensable 
preliminary,  to  any  examination  of  the  moral  progress  of 
Europe.  Unfortunately,  however,  such  an  enquiry  is  beset 
with  serious  difficulties,  arising  in  part  from  the  extreme 
multiplicity  of  detail  which  systems  of  moral  philosophy 
present,  and  in  part  from  a  fundamental  antagonism  of 
pi'inciples,  dividing  them  into  two  opposing  groups.  The 
great  controversy,  springing  from  the  rival  claims  of  intui- 
tion and  utility  to  be  regarded  as  the  supreme  regulator  of 
moral  distinctions,  may  be  dimly  traced  in  the  division 
between  Plato  and  Aristotle;  it  appeared  more  clearly  in 
the  division  between  the  Stoics  and  the  Epicureans ;  but  it 
has  only  acquired  its  full  distinctness  of  definition,  and  the 
importance  of  the  questions  depending  on  it  has  only  been 
fully  appreciated,  in  modern  times,  under  the  influence  of 
such  writers  as  Cud  worth,  Clarke,  and  Butler  upon  the  one 
Bide,  and  Hobbes,  Helvetius.  and  Bentham  on  the  other 


2  HISTORr   OF   EUROPEAJ^    MORALS. 

Independently  of  the  broad  intellectual  difficulties  wtich 
must  be  encountered  in  treating  this  question,  there  is  a 
difficulty  of  a  personal  kind,  which  it  may  be  advisable 
at  once  to  meet.  There  is  a  disposition  in  some  moralists 
to  resent,  as  an  imputation  against  their  own  characters, 
any  charge  of  immoral  consequences  that  may  be  brought 
against  the  principles  they  advocate.  Now  it  is  a  pecu- 
liarity of  this  controversy  that  eveiy  moralist  is  compelled, 
by  the  A^ery  nature  of  the  case,  to  bring  such  charges  against 
the  opinions  of  his  opponents.  The  business  of  a  mornl 
philosophy  is  to  account  for  and  to  justify  our  moral  senti- 
ments, or  in  other  words,  to  show  how  we  come  to  have  our 
notions  of  duty,  and  to  supply  us  with  a  reason  for  acting 
upon  them.  If  it  does  this  adequately,  it  is  impregnable, 
and  therefore  a  moralist  who  repudiates  one  system  is  called 
upon  to  show  that,  according  to  its  principles,  the  notion 
of  duty,  or  the  motives  for  performing  it,  could  never  have 
been  generated.  The  Utilitarian  accuses  his  opponent  of 
basiug  the  entire  system  of  morals  on  a  faculty  that  has  no 
existence,  of  adopting  a  principle  that  would  make  moral 
duty  vary  with  the  latitude  and  the  epoch,  of  resolving  all 
ethics  into  an  idle  sentiment.  The  intuitive  moialist,  for 
reasons  I  shall  hereafter  explain,  believes  that  the  Utilitarian 
theory  is  profoundly  immoral.  But  to  suppose  that  either 
of  these  charges  extends  to  the  character  of  the  moralist  is 
altogether  to  misconceive  the  position  which  moral  theon'es 
actually  hold  in  life.  Our  moral  sentiments  do  not  flow 
from,  but  long  precede  our  ethical  systems ;  and  it  is  usually 
only  after  our  characters  have  been  fully  formed  that  we 
begin  to  reason  about  them.  It  is  both  possible  and  very 
common  for  the  reasoning  to  be  very  defective,  without 
any  con'v'^.sponduig  imperfection  in  the  disposition  of  the  man. 

The  two  rival  theories  of  morals  are  known  by  many 
names,  .and  are  subdivided  into  many  groups.  One  of  them 
is  generally  described  as  the  stoical,  the  intuitive,  the  indo- 


THE    NATUKAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  3 

pendent  or  the  sentimental ;  the  other  as  the  epicurean,  the 
inductive,  the  utilitarian,  or  the  selfish.  The  moralists  of 
the  former  school,  to  state  their  opinions  in  the  broadest 
form,  believe  that  we  have  a  natural  power  of  perceiving 
that  some  qualities,  such  as  benevolence,  chastity,  or 
veracity,  are  better  than  others,  and  that  we  ought  to  culti- 
vat-e  them,  and  to  repress  their  opposites  In  other  words, 
they  contend,  that  by  the  constitution  of  our  nature,  the 
notion  of  right  carries  with  it  a  feeling  of  obligation ;  that 
to  say  a  course  of  conduct  is  our  duty,  is  in  itself,  and  apart 
from  all  consequences,  an  intelligible  and  sufficient  reason 
for  practising  it;  and  that  we  derive  the  first  principles  of 
our  duties  from  intuition.  The  moralist  of  the  opposite 
school  denies  that  we  have  any  such  natural  perception. 
He  maintains  that  we  have  by  nature  absolutely  no  know- 
ledge of  merit  and  demerit,  of  the  comparative  excellence  of 
our  feelings  and  actions,  and  that  we  derive  these  notions 
solely  from  an  observation  of__the  course  of  life  wjiich  is 
conduciv£_to_human^_happiness.  That  which  makes  actions 
good  is,  that  they  increase  the  happiness  or  diminish  the 
pains  of  mankind.  That  which  constitutes  their  demerit  is 
their  opposite  tendency.  To  procure  'the  greatest  happi- 
ness for  the  greatest  number,'  is  therefore  the  highest  aim  of 
the  moralist,  the  supreme  type  and  expression  of  virtue. 

It  is  manifest,  however,  that  this  last  school,  if  it  pro- 
ceeded no  further  than  I  have  stated,  would  have  failed  to 
accomplish  the  task  which  every  moralist  must  undertake. 
It  is  easy  to  understand  that  experience  may  show  that 
certain  actions  are  conducive  to  the  happiness  of  mankind, 
and  that  these  actions  may  in  consequence  be  regarded  aa 
supremely  excellent.  The  question  still  remains,  why  we 
are  bound  to  peiform  them.  If  men,  who  believe  that 
virtuous  actions  are  those  which  experience  shows  to  be 
useful  to  society,  believe  also  that  they  are  under  a  natural 
obligation  to  seek  the  happiness  of  others,  rather  than  theii 


4  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

own,  when  tlie  two  interests  conflict,  they  have  certainly  no 
claim  to  the  title  of  inductive  moralists.  They  recognise  a 
moral  faculty,  or  natural  sense  of  moral  obligation  or  duty 
as  truly  as  Butler  or  as  Cudworth.  And,  indeed,  a  position 
very  similar  to  this  has  been  adopted  by  several  intuitive 
moralists.  Thus  Hutchcson,  who  is  the  very  founder  in 
modern  times  of  the  doctrine  of  •  a  moral  sense,'  and  who 
has  defended  the  disinterested  character  of  virtiie  more 
powerfully  than  perhaps  any  other  moralist,  resolved  all 
virtue  into  benevolence,  or  the  pursuit  of  the  happiness  of 
others ;  but  he  maintained  that  tlie  excellence  and  obliga- 
tion of  benevolence  are  revealed  to  us  by  a  'moral  sense.' 
Hume,  in  like  manner,  pronounced  utility  to  be  the  criterion 
and  essential  element  of  all  virtue,  and  is  so  far  undoubtedly 
a  irtilitarian ;  but  he  asserted  also  that  our  pursuit  of  virtue 
is  unselfish,  and  that  it  springs  from  a  natural  feeling  of 
approbation  or  disapprobation  distinct  from  reason,  and  pro- 
duced by  a  peculiar  sense,  or  taste,  which  rises  up  within  us 
at  the  contemplation  of  virtue  or  of  vice.'  A  similar 
doctrine  has  more  recently  been  advocated  by  Mackintosh. 

'  The    opinions    of    Hume    on  sentiment  of  approbation.' — Ibid, 

moral  questions    are   grossly  mis-  Append.  I.     '  The  crime  or  immo- 

represented  by  many  writers,  who  rality  is  no  particular  fact  or  rela- 

persist  in  describing  them  as  sub-  tiun  which  can  be  the  object  of  the 

stantially  identical  with  those  of  understanding,  but  arises  entirely 

Bentham.      How   far   Hume   was  from  the  sentiment  of  disapproba- 

from    denying  the  existence   of  a  tion,  which,   by  the   structure  of 

moral  sense,  the  following  passages  human  nature,  we  unavoidably  feel 

will  show  :  — '  The  final  sent  ence,  it  on  the  apprehension  of  barbarity  or 

is     probable,     which     pronounces  treachery.'  —  Ibid.       'Eeason    in- 

characters  and  actions  amiable  or  structs  us  in  the  several  tendencies 

odious,    praiseworthy    or    blame-  of  actions,  and  humanity  makes  a 

able.  .  .  depends  on  some  internal  distinction  in  favour  of  those  which 

sense  or  feeling  which  nature  has  are   useful    and   beneficial.' — Ibid. 

made     universal     in     the     whole  '  As  virtue  is  an  end,  and  is  desir- 

species.'  --  Enquiry        Concerning  able  on  its  ovra.  account  without 

Morals,  %  I.     'The  hypothesis  we  fee  or  rev.ard,  merely  for  the  im- 

embrace  .  .  .  defines  virtue  to  be  mediate  satisfaction  it  conveys,  ii 

whatever  mental  action  or  quality  is  requisite  that  there  should  b« 

gives  to  the  spectator  the  pleasing  some  sentiment  which  it  toucHea, 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  O 

It  is  supposed  by  many  tliat  it  is  a  complete  description  of 
the  Utilitarian  system  of  morals,  that  it  judges  all  actions 
and  dispositions  by  their  consequences,  pronouncing  them 
moral  in  proportion  to  their  tendency  to  promote,  immoral 
in  proportion  to  their  tendency  to  diminish,  the  happiness 
of  man.,  But  such  a  summary  is  clearly  inadequate,  for  it 
deals  only  with  one  of  the  two  questions  which  every  moralist 
must  answer.  A  theory  of  morals  must  explain  not  only 
what  constitutes  a  duty,  but  also  how  we  obtain  the  notion 
of  there  being  such  a  thing  as  duty.  It  must  tell  us  not 
merely  what  is  the  coui^se  of  conduct  we  ought  to  piu-sue, 
but  also  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  word  '  ought/  and  from 
what  source  we  derive  the  idea  it  expresses. 

Those  who  have  undertaken  to  prove  that  all  our  mo- 
rality is  a  product  of  experience,  have  not  shrunk  from  this 
task,  and  have  boldly  entered  upon  the  one  path  that  was 
open  to  them.  The  notion  of  there  being  any  such  feeling  as 
an  original  sense  of  obligation  distinct  from  the  anticipation 
of  pleasure  or  pain,  they  treat  as  a  mere  illusion  of  the  ima- 
gination. All  that  is  meant  by  saying  we  ought  to  do  an 
action  is,  that  if  we  do  not  do  it,  we  shall  suffer.  A  desire 
to  obtain  happiness  and  to  avoid  pain  is  the  only  possible 
motive  to  action.  The  reason,  and  the  only  reason,  why  we 
should  perform  virtuous  actions,  or  in  other  words,  seek  the 
good  of  others,  is  that  on  the  whole  such  a  course  will  bring 
us  the  greatest  amount  of  happiness. 

We  have  here  then  a  general  statement  of  the  doctrine 
which  bases  morals  upon  experience.  If  we  ask  what  consti- 
tutes virtuous,  and  what  vicious  actions,  we  are  told  that  the 
first  are  those  which  increase  the  happiness  or  diminish  the 


Bome  internal   taste  or  feeling,  or  was  most  indebted  were  Hutcheson 

•whatever  you   please   to   call    it,  and   Butler.     In  some  int-eresting 

which    distinguishes    moral    good  letters    to    the   former   (Burton'a 

and  Qx\\,  and  which   embraces  the  Life  of  Hume,  vol.  i.),  he  discusses 

one  and  rejects  the  other.' — Ibid,  the   points  on   which   he   differed 

The  two  writers  to  whom  Hume  from  them. 


6  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

pains  of  man  "kind;  and  the  second  are  those  which  have 
the  opposite  effect.  If  we  ask  what  is  the  motive  to  virtue, 
we  are  told  that  it  is  an  enlightened  self-interest.  The  words 
happiness,  utility,  and  interest  include,  however,  many  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  enjoyment,  and  have  given  rise  to  many 
different  modifications  of  the  theory. 

Perhaps  the  lowest  and  most  repulsive  form  of  thia 
theory  is  that  which  was  propounded  by  Mandeville,  in  his 
'  Enquiry  into  the  Origin  of  Moral  Virtue.'  ^  According  to 
this  writer,  virtue  sprang  in  the  first  iastance  from  the 
cunning  of  rulers.  These,  in  order  to  govern  men,  found  it 
necessary  to  persuade  them  that  it  was  a  noble  thing  to 
restrain,  instead  of  indulging  their  passions,  and  to  devote 
themselves  entirely  to  the  good  of  the  community.  The 
manner  in  which  they  attained  this  end  was  by  acting  upon 
the  feeling  of  vanity.  They  persuaded  men  that  human 
nature  was  something  nobler  than  the  nature  of  animals,  and 
that  devotion  to  the  community  rendered  a  man  pre-emi- 
nently great.  By  statues,  and  titles,  and  honours ;  by  con- 
tinually extolling  such  men  as  Regulus  or  Decius;  by 
representing  those  who  were  addicted  to  useless  enjoyments 
as  a  low  and  despicable  class,  they  at  last  so  inflamed  the 
vanity  of  men  as  to  kindle  an  intense  emulation,  and  inspire 


'  '  The    chief    thing    therefore  eluded  that  flattery  must  he  the 

which   lawgivers   and   other   wise  most  powerful  argument  that  could 

men  that  have   laboured   for   the  be    used     to     human     creatures, 

establishment  of  society  have  en-  Making   use    of    this    bewitching 

deavoured,  has  been  to  make  the  engine,  they  extolled  the  excellency 

people  they  were  to  govern  believe  of  our  nature  above  other  animals! 

that  it   "nA3    more    beneficial    for  ...  by   the    help   of    which    we 

everyi>ody  tc  conquer  than  to  in-  were    capable   of  performing   the 

dulge  his  appetites,  and  much  bet-  most  noble  achievements.    Havingj 

ter  to  mind  the  public  than  what  by  this  artful  flattery,  insinuated 

seemed   his    private  interest  .  .  .  themselves  into  the  hearts  of  men, 

observing  that  none  were  either  so  they  began  to  instruct  them  in  the 

savage  as  not  to  be  charmed  with  notions  of  honour  and  shame,  &c.' 

praise,  or  so  despicable  as  patiently  — Enquiry  into  the  Origin  of  Morai 

to  bear  contempt,  they  justly  con-  Virtue. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS,  7 

t-lio  most  heroic  actions.  And  soon  new  influences  came  into 
plav.  Men  who  began  by  restraining  their  passions,  in 
order  to  acquire  the  pleasure  of  the  esteem  of  others,  found 
that  this  restraint  saved  them  from  many  painful  conse- 
quences that  would  have  naturally  ensued  from  over-indul- 
gence,  and  this  discovery  became  a  new  motive  to  virtue. 
Each  member  of  the  community  moreover  found  that  he  him- 
self derived  benefit  from  the  self-sacrifice  of  others,  and  also 
that  when  he  was  seeking  his  own  interest,  without  regard  to 
others,  no  persons  stood  so  much  in  his  way  as  those  who 
were  similarly  employed,  and  he  had  thus  a  double  reason 
for  diffusing  abroad  the  notion  of  the  excellence  of  self-sacrifice. 
The  result  of  all  this  was  that  men  agi^eed  to  stigmatise 
under  the  term  'vice '  whatever  was  injurious,  and  to  eulogise 
as  '  virtue '  whatever  was  beneficial  to  society. 

The  opinions  of  Mandeville  attracted,  when  they  were 
published,  an  attention  greatly  beyond  their  intrinsic  merit, 
but  they  are  now  sinking  rapidly  into  deserved  oblivion.  The 
author,  iu  a  poem  called  the  '  Fable  of  the  Bees,'  and  in  com- 
ments attached  to  it,  himself  advocated  a  thesis  altogether 
inconsistent  with  that  I  have  described,  maintaining  that 
*  private  vices  were  public  benefits,'  and  endeavouring,  in  a 
long  series  of  very  feeble  and  sometimes  very  grotesque  ar- 
guments, to  prove  that  vice  was  in  the  highest  degree  benefi- 
cial to  mankind.  A  far  greater  writer  had  however  already 
framed  a  scheme  of  morals  which,  if  somewhat  less  repulsive, 
was  in  no  degree  less  selfish  than  that  of  Mandeville ;  and 
the  opinions  of  Hobbes  concerning  the  essence  and  origin  of 
virtue,  have,  with  no  very  great  variations,  been  adopted  by 
what  may  be  termed  the  narrower  school  of  Utilitarians. 

According  to  these  writers  we  are  governed  exclusively 
by  our  own  interest.^     Pleasure,  they  assure  us,  is  the  only 


'  '  I  conceive  that  when  a  man  else  but  consider  whether  it  be 
ieliberates  whether  he  shall  do  a  better  for  himself  to  do  it  or  not  to 
thing  or  not  do  it,  ho  does  nothing     do   it.' — Hobbes    On  Liberty  ami 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


gfood,^  and  moral  good  and  moral  evil  mean  notliing  moie 
than  our  voluntary  conformity  to  a  law  that  will  bring  it  to 
us.^  To  love  good  simply  as  good,  is  impossible.^  Wben  we 
speak  of  the  goodness  of  God,  we  mean  only  H!is  goodness  to 


Necessity.  'Gool  and  evil  are 
n.imes  that  signify  our  appetites 
and  aversions.' —  Ibid.  Leviathan, 
parti,  ch.  xvi.  '  Obligation  is  the 
jiecessity  of  doing  or  omitting  any 
action  in  order  to  be  happy.' — Gay's 
dissertation  prefixed  to  King's  Ori- 
gin of  Evil,  p.  36.  '  The  only  reason 
or  motive  by  which  individuals  can 
possibly  be  induced  to  the  practice 
of  virtue,  must  be  the  feeling  im- 
mediate or  the  prospect  of  future 
private  happiness.' — Brown  O71  the 
Characteristics,  p.  159.  'En  tout 
temps,  en  tout  lieu,  tant  en  matiere 
de  morale  qu  en  matiere  d'esprit, 
c'est  I'interet  personnel  qui  dicte  le 
jugement  des  particuliers,  et  I'in- 
teret general  qui  dicte  celui  des 
nations.  .  .  .  Touthomme  ne  prend 
dans  ses  jugements  conseil  que  de 
son  interet.' — Hel vetius  De  V Esprit ^ 
disoours  ii.  'Nature  has  placed 
mankind  under  the  governance  of 
two  sovereign  masters,  pain  and 
pleasure.  It  is  for  them  alone  to 
point  out  what  we  ought  to  do  as 
well  as  to  determine  what  we  shall 
do.  .  .  .  The  principle  of  utility 
recognises  this  subjection,  and  as- 
sumes it  for  the  foundation  of  that 
system,  the  object  of  which  is  to 
rear  the  fabric  of  felicity  by  the 
hands  of  reason  and  of  law  Systems 
which  attempt  to  question  it,  deal 
in  sounds  instead  of  s«nse,  in  capri?e 
instead  of  reason,  in  darkness  in- 
stead of  light.'— Bentham's  Princi- 
ples  of  florals  and  L^gidation,  ch.  i. 
'  By  the  principle  of  utility  is  meant 
that  principle  which  approves  or 
disapproves  of  every  action  what- 
soever, according  to  the  tendency 


which  it  appears  to  have  to  augment 
or  diminish  the  happiness  of  the 
party  whose  interest  is  in  question.' 
— Ibid.  '  Je  regardel'amour  eclaire 
de  nous-memes  comnie  le  principe 
de  tout  sacrifice  moral.' — D'Aleni- 
bert  quoted  by  D.  Stewart,  Active 
and  Moral  Powers,  vol.  i.  p.  220. 

•  '  Pleasure  is  in  itself  a  good ; 
nay,  even  setting  aside  immunity 
from  pain,  the  only  good ;  pain  is 
in  itself  an  evil,  and,  indeed,  with- 
out exception,  the  only  evil,  or  else 
the  words  good  and  evil  have  no 
meaning.' —  Bentham's  Principles 
of  Morals  and  Legislation,  ch.  x. 

2  '  Good  and  evil  are  nothing 
but  pleasure  and  pain,  or  that  which 
occasions  or  procures  pleasure  or 
pain  to  us.  Moral  good  and  evil 
then  is  only  the  conformity  or  dis- 
agreement of  our  voluntary  actions 
to  some  law  whereby  good  or  evil 
is  drawn  on  us  by  the  will  and 
power  of  the  law  maker,  which 
good  and  eA'il,  pleasure  or  pain,  at- 
tending our  observance  or  breach 
of  the  law  by  the  decree  of  the  law 
maker,  is  that  we  call  reward  or  pun- 
ishment.'— Locke's  Eisay,  book  ii. 
ch.  xxviii.  '  Take  away  pleasures 
and  pains,  not  only  happiness,  but 
justice,  and  duty,  and  obligation, 
and  virtue,  all  of  which  have  been 
so  elaborately  held  up  to  view  as 
independent  of  thom,  are  so  many 
empty  sounds.' — ^eniham's  Springs 
of  Action,  ch.  i.  §  15. 

^  '  I;  lui  est  aussi  impossible 
d'aimer  le  bien  pour  le  bien,  que 
d'aimer  le  mal  pour  le  mal.*  — 
Hel  vetius  De  V  Esprit,  disc,  ii 
CQ.  r. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORAL-S. 


US.'  Reverence  is  nothing  more  than  our  conviction,  that  one 
who  has  power  to  do  iis  both  good  and  hnrm,  will  only  do  ns 
good. 2  The  pleasures  of  piety  arise  from  the  belief  that  we  are 
about  to  receive  pleasure,  ?nd  the  pains  of  piety  from  the  belief 
that  we  are  about  to  suffer  pain  from  the  Deity.^  Our  very 
affections,  according  to  some  of  these  writers,  are  all  forms  of 
self-love.  Thus  charity  springs  partly  from  our  desii-e  to  obtain 
the  esteem  of  others,  partly  from  the  expectation  that  the 
favoui-s  we  have  bestowed  will  be  reciprocated,  and  partly,  too, 
fi'om  the  gratification  of  the  sense  of  power,  by  the  proof  that 
we  can  satisfy  not  only  our  own  desii-es  but  also  the  desii-es  of 
others.'*  Pity  is  an  emotion  arising  from  a  vivid  realisation  of 
son-ow  that  may  befall  oimselves,  suggested  by  the  sight  of  the 
Borrows  of  others.     We  pity  especially  those  who  have  not 


*  *  Even  the  goodness  -svhich  -we 
apprehf-ud  in  God  Almigli'y.  is  his 
goodness  to  us.' — Hobl)es  On  Hu- 
man Nature,  ch.  vii.  §  3.  So  Yv'jiter- 
land,  •  To  love  God  is  in  effect  the 
same  thing  as  to  lovo  happiness, 
eternal  happiness  ;  and  the  love  of 
happiness  is  still  the  love  of  our- 
selves.'—  Third  Sermon  on  Self -love. 

'  '  Keverence  is  the  conception 
■we  liave  concerning  another,  that 
he  hath  the  po-sver  to  do  unto  u? 
both  good  and  hurt,  but  not  the  will 
to  do  us  hurt.' — Hobbes  On  Human 
Nature,  ch.viii.  §  7. 

'  '  The  pleasures  of  piety  are 
the  pleasures  that  accompany  the 
belief  of  a  man's  being  in  the  acqui- 
sition, or  in  possession  of  the  good- 
will or  favour  of  the  Supreme  Being ; 
and  as  a  fruit  of  it,  of  his  being  in 
the  way  of  enjoying  pleasures  to  be 
received  by  God's  special  appoint- 
ment either  in  this  life  or  in  a  life 
to  come.' — Bentham's  Principles  of 
Morals  and  Dgislation,  ch.  v.  '  The 
pains  of  piety  are  the  pains  that 
accompany  the   belief  of  a  man's 


being  obnoxious  to  the  displeasure 
of  the  Supreme  Being,  and  in  con- 
sequence to  certain  pains  to  be  in- 
flicted by  His  especial  appointment, 
either  in  this  life  or  in  a  life  to 
come.  These  may  be  also  called 
ihe  pains  of  religion. — Ibid. 

*  '  There  can  be  no  greater  argu- 
ment to  a  man  of  his  own  power, 
than  to  find  himself  able  not  only 
to  accomplish  his  own  desires,  but 
also  to  assist  other  men  in  theirs  ; 
and  this  is  that  conception  wherein 
consisteth  charity.' — Hobbes  On 
Ham.  Nat.  ch.  ix.  §  17.  'No  man 
giveth  but  with  intention  of  good 
to  himself,  because  gift  isvolunrary; 
and  of  all  voluntary  acts,  the  object 
to  every  man  is  his  own  good.' — 
Hobbes'  L'viathan,  part  i.  ch.  xv. 
'  Dream  not  that  men  will  move 
their  little  finger  to  serve  ycii, 
unless  their  advantage  in  so  doing 
be  obvious  to  them.  Men  never 
did  so,  and  never  will  while  human 
nature  is  made  of  its  present  mate- 
rials.'— Bentham's  Deontolcqu,  vol 
ii.  p.  133 


10 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


deserved  calamity,  because  we  consider  ourselves  to  belong  to 
that  category  ;  and  the  spectacle  of  suffering  against  which  no 
forethought  could  provide,  reminds  us  most  forcibly  of  what 
may  happen  to  oi^irselvesJ  Friendship  is  the  sense  of  tlie 
need  of  the  person  befriended.^ 

From  such  a  conception  of  human  nature  it  is  easy  to 
divine  what  system  of  morals  must  flow.  No  character, 
feeling,  or  action  is  naturally  better  than  others,  and  as  long 
as  men  are  in  a  savage  condition,  morality  has  no  existence. 
Fortunately,  however,  we  are  all  dependent  for  many  of  our 
pleasures  upon  others.  Co-operation  and  organisation  are 
essential  to  our  happiness,  and  these  are  impossible  without 

giuation.  The  theory  of  Adam 
Smith,  though  closely  connected 
with,  differs  totally  in  consequences 
from  that  of  Hobbes  on  this  point. 
He  says,  '  When  I  condule  with  ynu 
for  the  loss  of  your  son,  in  order  to 
enter  into  your  grief,  I  do  not  con- 
sider what  I,  a  person  of  such  a 
character  and  profession,  should 
suffer  if  I  had  a  son,  and  if  that  son 
should  die  —  I  consider  what  I 
should  suffer  if  I  ^as  really  yoa. 
I  not  only  change  circumstances 
with  you,  but  I  change  persons  and 
characters.  My  grief,  therefore,  is 
entirely  upon  your  a^^count.  .  .  , 
A  man  may  sympathise  with  a 
woman  in  child-Led,  though  it  is 
impossible  he  should  conceive  him- 
self suffering  her  pains  in  his  own 
proper  person  and  character.' — • 
Moral  Sentiments,  part  rii.  ch.  i. 
§3. 

2  '  Cequoleshommesontnomra6 
amitie  n'est  qu'une  societe,  qu'ua 
menagement  reciproquo  d'interets 
et  quun  ecliange  de  bons  offices. 
Ce  n'est  enfiu  qu'un  commerce  o'i 
ramour-propre  se  propose  toujours 
quelque  chose  a  gagner.' —  La 
Rochefoucauld,  Max.  83.  See  this 
idea  developed  at  large  in  Helv^tiuA 


•  'Pity  is  imagination  or  fiction 
of  future  calamity  to  ourselves,  pro- 
ci^eding  from  the  sense  of  another 
man's  calamity.  But  when  it  light- 
cth  on  sucli  as  we  think  have  not 
deserved  the  same,  the  compassion 
is  greater,  because  there  then  ap- 
peareth  more  probability  that  the 
same  may  happen  to  us  ;  for  the 
evil  that  happetieth  to  an  innocent 
man  may  happen  to  every  man.' — 
Hobbes  On  Hum.  Nat.  ch.  ix.  §  10. 
'La  pitie  est  souvent  un  sentiment 
de  nos  propres  maux  dans  les  maux 
d'autrui.  C'est  une  habile  prevoy- 
ancedes  malheursou  nous  pouvoiis 
tomber.  Nous  donnons  des  secours 
aux  autres  pour  les  engager  a  nous 
en  donner  en  de  semblables  occa- 
sions, et  ces  services  que  nous  leur 
rendons  sont,  a  proprement  parler, 
des  biens  que  nous  nous  faisons 
a  nous-memes  pir  avance.' — La 
Kochefoucazld,  Maximes,  264.  But- 
ler his  remarked  that  if  Hobbes" 
account  wore  true,  the  most  fearful 
would  be  the  most  compassionate 
nature ;  but  this  is  perhaps  not 
vj'ijte  just,  for  Hobbes'  notion  of 
pity  implies  the  union  of  two  not 
absolutely  identical,  though  nearly 
allied,  influences,  timiditv  and  ima- 


THE    NATUI5AL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  11 

some  restraint  being  placed  upon  our  appetites.  Laws  are 
enacted  to  secure  this  restraint,  and  being  sustained  by 
rewards  and  punishments,  they  make  it  the  interest  of  the 
individual  to  regard  that  of  the  community.  According  to 
Hobbes,  the  disposition  of  man  is  so  anarchical,  and  the 
importance  of  restraining  it  so  transcendent,  that  absolute 
government  alone  is  good ;  the  commands  of  the  sovereign 
are  supreme,  and  must  therefore  constitute  the  law  of  morals. 
The  other  moralists  of  the  school,  though  repudiating  this 
notion,  have  given  a  very  great  and  distinguished  place  to 
legislation  in  their  schemes  of  ethics ;  for  all  our  conduct 
being  determined  by  our  interests,  virtue  being  simply  the 
conformity  of  our  own  interests  with  those  of  the  community, 
and  a  judicious  legislation  being  the  chief  way  of  securing 
this  conformity,  the  functions  of  the  moralist  and  of  the 
legislator  are  almost  identical.'  But  in  addition  to  the 
rewards  and  punishments  of  the  penal  code,  those  arising 
from  public  opinion — fame  or  infamy,  the  friendship  or  hos- 
tility of  those  about  us — are  enlisted  on  the  side  of  virtue. 
The  educating  influence  of  laws,  and  the  gi'owing  perception 
of  tlie  identity  of  interests  of  the  different  members  of  the 
community,  create  a  public  opinion  favourable  to  all  the 
qualities  which  are  '  the  means  of  peaceable,  sociable,  and 
comfortable  living.'  ^     Such  are  justice,  gi-atitude,  modesty, 


'  '  La  science  de  la  morale  n'est  sions,  which  in  different  tempers, 

autre  chose  que  la  science  menie  customs,  and  doctrines  of  men  are 

de  la   legislation.' — Helvetius    De  different  .  .  .  from    vhence    arise 

VEsjprit,  ii.  17.  disputes,  controversies,  and  at  last 

2  This  doctrine  is  expounded  at  war.     And   therefore,  so   long   as 

length  in  all  the  moral  works  of  man  is  in  this  condition  of  mere 

Hobbes  and  his  school.     The  fol-  nature   (which   is    a    condition   of 

lowing  passage  is  a  fair  specimen  war),   his  private  appetite  is  the 

of  their  meaning: — 'Moral  philo-  measure  of  good  and  evil.      And 

Kophy    is    nothing    else   but    the  consequently  all  men  agree  in  this, 

science  of  what  is  good  and  evil  in  thatpeaceisgood,  andthereforealso 

the   conversation    and    society  of  that  the  ways  or  means  of  peace, 

mankind.    Good  and  evil  are  names  (which,  as  I  have  showed  before) 

that  signify  our  appetites  and  aver-  are    justice,    gratitude,    modesty 


12  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

e«iuity,  and  mercy;  and  such,  too,  are  purity  and  chastity, 
whicli,  considered  in  themselves  alone,  are  in  no  degree  more 
excellent  than  the  coarsest  and  most  indiscriminate  lust,  but 
which  can  be  shown  to  be  conducive  to  the  happiness  of 
society,  and  become  in  consequence  virtues.^  Tliis  education 
of  public  opinion  grows  continually  stronger  with  civilisation, 
and  gradually  moulds  the  characters  of  men,  making  them 
more  and  more  disinterested,  heroic,  and  unseltish.  A  dis- 
interested, unselfish,  and  heroic  man,  it  is  explained,  is  one 
who  is  strictly  engrossed  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own  pleasure, 
but  who  pursues  it  in  such  a  manner  as  to  include  in  its 
gratification  the  happiness  of  others. - 

It  is  a  very  old  assertion,  that  a  man  who  prudently 
sought  his  own  interest  would  live  a  life  of  perfect  ^irtue. 
This  opinion  is  adopted  by  most  of  those  "CtiUtarians  who 
are  least  inclined  to  lay  great  stress  upon  religious  motives ; 
and  as  they  maintain  that  every  man  necessai-ily  pursues 
exclusively  his  own  happiness,  we  return  by  another  path  to 
the  old  Platonic  doctiine,  that  all  vice  is  ignorance.  Viitue 
Is  a  judicious,  and  \dce  an  injudicious,  pursuit  of  pleasure. 
V'irtue  is  a  branch  of  pnidence,  vice  is  nothing  more  than 


equity,  mercy,  and  the  rest  of  the  the  ideas  of  ch;istity  and  modesty 
laws  of  nature  are  good  .  .  .  and  serve?  Nisi  utile  est  quod  facimus, 
their  contrary  vices  evil.' — Hobbes'  frustra  est  gloria.' 
Leviathan,  part  i.  ch.  XA-i.  See,  ^.^ii  pleasure  is  necessarily 
too,  a  strfking  passage  in  Ben-  self-regarding,  fur  it  is  impossible 
tham's  Deontology,  vol.  ii.  p.  1.32.  to  have  any  feeliais  out  of  our 
'  As  an  ingenious  writer  in  the  own  mind.  But  t-  ere  are  modes  of 
Saturday  Review  (Aug.  10,  1867)  delight  that  bring  also  satisfaction 
expresses  it:  'Chastity  is  merely  to  others,  from  the  round  that  they 
a  social  law  created  to  encourage  take  in  their  course.  Such  are  tho 
the  alliances  that  most  promote  the  pleasures  of  beneA'olence.  Others 
permanent  welfare  of  the  race,  and  imply  no  participation  by  any 
to  maintain  woman  in  a  social  second  party,  as,  for  example,  eat>- 
position  which  it  is  thought  advis-  ing,  drinking,  bodily  warmth,  pro- 
able  she  should  hold.'  See,  too,  pcrty,  and  power;  while  a  third 
on  this  "view,  Hume's  Inquiry  con-  class  are  fed  by  the  pains  and  pri- 
cerning  Morals,  §  4,  and  also  note  vations  of  fellow-beings,  as  the  de« 
X. :  'To  what  other  purpose  do  all  lights  of  sport  and  tyranny.     Th« 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS. 


13 


imprudence  or  miscalculation.^  He  who  seeks  to  improve 
the  moral  condition  of  mankind  has  two,  and  only  two, 
ways  of  accomplishing  his  end.  The  first  is,  to  make  it 
more  and  more  the  interest  of  each  to  conform  to  that  of 
the  others  ;  the  second  is,  to  dispel  the  ignorance  which 
prevents  men  fiom  seeing  their  true  interest. ^  If  chastity 
or  truth,  or  any  other  of  what  we  regard  as  virtiies,  could  be 
sbown  to  ]>roduco  on  the  whole  id  ore  pain  than  they  destroy, 
or  to  deprive  men  of  more  pleasure  than  they  afford,  they 
would  not  be  virtues,  but  vices.^     If  it  could  be  shown  that 


condemnatory  phrase,  selfishness, 
applies  with  especial  emphasis  to 
the  last-mentioned  class,  and,  in  a 
qualified  degree,  to  the  second 
group ;  while  such  terms  as  un- 
selfishness, disinterestedness,  self- 
devotion,  are  applied  to  the  vica- 
rious position  wherein  we  seek  our 
o\va  satisfaction  in  that  of  others.' 
— Bain  O/i  the  Emotions  and  Will, 
p.  il3. 

'  '  Vice  may  be  defined  to  be  a 
miscalculation  of  chances,  a  rais- 
tiike  in  estimating  the  value  of 
pleasures  and  pains.  It  is  false 
moral  arithmetic'  —  Bentham's 
Deontology,  vol.  i.  p.  131. 

*  '  La  recompense,  la  punition, 
la  gloire  et  Tinfamie  soumises  a  ses 
voluntes  sont  quatre  especes  de 
divinites  avec  lesquelles  le  legisla- 
teur  peut  toujuurs  operer  le  bien 
publicet  creer  des  hommes  ilhistres 
en  tous  les  genres.  Touto  I'etude 
des  moralist es  consiste  a  determiner 
Tusage*  qu'on  doii  faire  de  ces 
recompenses  et  de  ces  punitions  et 
les  secours  qu'on  peut  tirer  pour 
lier  I'iuteret  personnel  a  I'interet 
general' — Helvetius  De  C Esprit, 
li.  22,  'La  justice  de  nos  juge- 
ments  et  de  nos  actions  n'est 
jamais  que  la  rencontre  heurfuse 
de  notre  interct  avec  I'interet  pub- 


lic.'—Ibid,  ii.  7.  '  To  prove  t  hat 
the  immoral  action  is  a  miscalcula- 
tion of  self-interest,  to  show  how 
erroneous  an  estimate  the  vicious 
man  makes  of  pains  and  pleasures, 
is  the  purpose  of  the  intelligent 
moralist.  Unless  he  can  do  this 
he  docs  nothiug;  fur,  as  has  been 
stated  aboA'e,  for  a  man  not  to  pur- 
sue what  he  deems  likely  to  pro- 
duce to  him  the  greatest  sum  of 
enjoyment,  is,  in  the  very  nature 
of  things,  impossible.' — Ecntham's 
Deontology. 

^  'If  the  effect  of  virtue  were 
to  prevent  or  destroy  more  pleasure 
than  it  produced,  or  to  produce 
more  pain  than  it  prevented,  its 
more  appropriate  name  would  be 
wickedness  and  folly  ;  wickedness 
as  it  affected  others,  fully  as  re- 
spected him  who  practised  it.' — 
Bentham's  Deontology,  \q\.  i.  p.  142. 
'  Weigh  pains,  weigh  pleasures, 
and  as  the  balance  stands  will 
stand  the  question  of  right  and 
-wrong.'  —  Ibid.  vol.  i.  p.  137, 
'  JVIoralis  philosophise  caput  est, 
Faustine  fili,  ut  scias  quibus  ad 
beatam  vitam  perveniri  rationibus 
possit.' — Apuleius,  Ad  Doct.  Pla- 
tonis,  ii.  '  Atque  ipsautilitas,  justi 
prope  mater  et  sequi.' -  Horace, 
Sat.  I.  iii.  98. 


14  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

it  is  not  for  our  own  interest  to  practise  any  of  what  ai-e 
afbnitted  to  be  vii-tues,  all  obligation  to  practise  them  would 
immediately  cease. ^  The  whole  scheme  of  ethics  may  be 
evolved  from  the  four  canons  of  Epicurus.  The  pleasure 
which  produces  no  pain  is  to  be  embraced.  The  pain  which 
produces  no  pleasia-e  is  to  be  avoided.  The  pleasure  is  to  be 
avoided  which  prevents  a  greater  pleasure,  or  produces  a 
greater  pain.  The  pain  is  to  be  endured  which  averts  a 
greater  pain,  or  secures  a  greater  pleasure.  ^ 

So  far  I  have  barely  alluded  to  any  but  terrestrial  mo- 
tives.  These,  in  the  opinion  of  many  of  the  most  illustiioua 
of  the  school,  are  sufficient,  but  others — as  we  shall  see,  I 
think,  with  great  reason — are  of  a  different  opinion.  Their 
obvious  resource  is  in  the  rewards  and  punishments  of 
another  world,  and  these  they  accordingly  present  as  the 
motive  to  virtue.  Of  all  the  modifications  of  the  selfish 
theory,  this  alone  can  be  said  to  furnisli  interested  motives 
for  virtue  which  are  invariably  and  incontestably  adequate. 
If  men  introduce  the  notion  of  infinite  punishments  and 
infinite  lewards  distributed  by  an  omniscient  Judge,  they  can 
undoubtedly  supply  stronger  reasons  for  practising  virtue 
than  can  ever  be  found  for  practising  vice.  While  admitting 
therefore  in  emphatic  terms,  that  any  sacrifice  of  our  pleasure, 
without  the  prospect  of  an  equivalent  reward,  is  a  simple 
act  of  madness,  and  unworthy  of  a  rational  being,^  these 

'  '  We  can  be  obliged  to  nothing  Paley's  Moral  Fhilcsophy,  book  ii. 

but  what  we  ourselves  are  to  gain  ch.  ii. 

or  lose  something  by;  for  nothing  '•'See      Gasscndi      Philosophic 

else  can  be  "violent  motive  "  tons.  Epiciiri    Si/ntagma.      These    four 

As   we  should  not  be    obliged  to  canons  are  a  skilful  condensation 

obey  the  laws  or  the  magistrate  of  the  argument  of  Torquatiis  in 

unless    rewards    or    punishments,  Cicero,  De  Fin.   i.  2.     See,  too,  a 

pleasure  or  pain,  somehow  or  other,  very   striking   letter  by  Epicurua 

depended  upon  our  obedience ;  so  himself,  given  in   his  life  by  Dio- 

neither   should   we,    without    the  genes  Laertius. 

same  reason,  be  obliged  to  do  what  ^  '  Sanus    igitur    non    est,    qui 

is  right,  to  practise  virtue,  or  to  nulla  spemnjoreproposita,  iis  bonis 

obey   the    commands    of    God.' —  quibus  cseteri  utuntur  in  vita,  la- 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS. 


15 


writers  maintain  that  we  may  reasonably  sacrifice  the  enjoy- 
ments of  this  life,  because  we  shall  be  rewarded  by  far 
greater  enjoyment  in  the  next.  To  gain  heaven  and  avoid 
hell  should  be  the  spring  of  all  our  actions,^  and  virtue  is 
simply  prudence  extending  its  calculations  beyond  the  grave.' 


bores  et  cruoi;itns  et  miserias  ante- 

poiiat Non  aliter  his  bonis 

prjesentibus  ab^tinenduni  est  qiiam 
pi  sint  aliqua  majora,  propter  qune 
tanti  sit  et  voluptates  omittere  et 
mala  omnia  sustinere.' — Lactantius, 
Div.  Inst.  vi.  9.  Macaulay,  in  some 
youthful  essays  against  the  Utili- 
tarian theory  (which  he  character- 
istically descriljed  as  '  Not  much 
mo'"e  laughable  than  phrenology, 
and  immeasurably  more  humane 
than  cock-fighting'),  maintains  the 
theological  form  of  selfishness  in 
very  strong  terms.  '  What  proposi- 
tion is  there  respecting  human  na- 
ture which  is  absolutely  and  uni- 
versally true?  AVe  know  ot  only 
one,  and  that  is  not  only  true  but 
identical,  that  men  always  act  from 
pelf-interest.'  —  Review  of  Mill's 
Essay  on  Government.  'Of  this 
we  may  be  sure,  that  the  words 
"greatest  happiness"  will  never  in 
any  man's  mouth  mean  more  than 
the  greatest  happiness  of  others, 
which  is  consistent  with  what  he 
thinks  his  own.  .  .  .  This  direction 
(Do  as  you  would  be  done  by)  woiild 
be  utterly  unmeaning,  as  i>  actually 
is  in  Mr.  Bentham's  philosophy, 
unless  it  were  accompanied  by  a 
sanction.  In  the  Christian  scheme 
accordingly  it  is  accompanied  by  a 
sanction  of  immense  force.  To  a 
man  whose  greatest  happiness  in 
thi%  world  is  inconsistent  with  the 
^tatest  happiness  of  the  greatest 
number,  is  held  out  the  prospect  of 
an  infinite  happiness  hereafter,  from 


which  he  exclades  him  self  by  wrong- 
ing his  fellow-creatures  here.' — 
An.^wcr  to  the  Westminster  Review"* 
Dcfe)ice  of  Mill. 

'  'All  virtue  and  piety  are  thug 
resolvable  into  a  principle  of  self- 
love.  It  is  what  Scripture  itself 
resolves  them  into  by  founding 
them  upon  faith  in  God's  promises, 
and  hope  in  things  unseen.  In 
this  way  it  may  be  rightly  said 
that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  dis- 
interested virtue.  It  is  with  refer- 
ence to  ourselves  and  for  our  own 
sakes  that  we  love  even  God  Him- 
self.'— Waterland,  Third  Sermon  on 
Self-lore.  'To  risk  the  happiness 
of  the  whole  duration  of  our  being 
in  any  case  whatever,  were  it 
possible,  would  be  foolish.' — 
Robert  Hall's  Sermon  on  Modern 
Infidelity.  '  In  the  moral  system 
the  means  are  virtuous  practice; 
the  end,  happiness.' — Warburton's 
Divine  lygation,  book  ii.  Appendix. 

^  '  There  is  always  understood 
to  be  a  difference  between  an  act 
of  prudence  and  an  act  of  duty. 
Thus,  if  I  distrusted  a  man  who 
owed  me  a  sum  of  money,  I  should 
reckon  it  an  act  of  prudence  to  get 
another  person  bound  with  him; 
but  I  should  hardly  call  it  an  act 
of  duty.  .  .  ,  Now  in  what,  you 
will  ask,  does  the  difference  con- 
sist, inasmuch  as,  according  to  our 
account  of  the  matter,  both  in  the 
one  case  and  the  other,  in  acts  of 
duty  as  well  as  acts  of  prudence, 
we  consider  solely  what  we  our- 


16 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


This  calculation  is  what  we  mean  by  the  '  religious  motive.'  ^ 
The  belief  that  the  nobility  and  excellence  of  virtue  could 
incite  us,  was  a  mere  delusion  of  the  Pagans.^ 

Considered  simply  in  the  light  of  a  prudential  scheme, 
there  are  only  two  possible  objections  that  could  be  brought 
against  this  theory.  It  might  be  said  that  the  amount  of 
virtue  required  for  entering  heaven  was  not  defined,  and 
that  therefore  it  would  be  possible  to  enjoy  some  vices  on 
earth  with  impunity.  To  tliis,  however,  it  is  answered  that 
the  very  indefiniteness  of  the  requirement  renders  zealous 
piety  a  matter  of  pi-udence,  and  also  that  there  is  probably  a 
gi'aduated  scale  of  rewards  and  punishments  adapted  to  every 
variety  of  merit  and  demerit.^  It  might  be  said  too  that 
present  pleasures  are  at  least  certain,  and  that  those  of 
another  world  are  not  equally  so.  It  is  answered  that  the 
rewards  aud  punishments  ofiered  in  another  world  are  so 
transeendently  gi'eat,  that  accordiirg  to  the  rules  of  ordinaiy 


selves  eihall  gain  or  lose  l)y  the 
act?  The  difference,  and  the  only 
difference,  i?  this:  that  in  the  one 
case  we  consider  -nhat  we  shall 
gain  cr  lose  in  the  present  world ; 
in  the  other  case,  Ave  consider  also 
•what  T  6  shall  gain  or  lose  in  the 
world  to  come.'— Palcy's  Moral 
Fhiloscyhy,  ii.  3. 

•  '  Hence  we  may  see  the  weak- 
ness and  mistake  of  those  falsely 
religicue  .  .  .  who  are  scan  lalised 
at  our  being  determined  to  the  piir- 
suit  of  virtue  tlirough  any  degree 
of  regard  to  its  happy  consequences 
in  this  life.  .  .  .  For  it  is  evident 
that  the  religious  motive  is  pre- 
cisely of  the  same  kind,  only 
stronger,  as  the  happiness  expected 
is  greater  and  more  lasting.' — 
Brown's  Essays  on  the  Characier- 
istics,  p.  220. 

2  'If  a  Christian,  who  has  the 
view  of  happiness  and  nxisery  in 


another  life,  be  asked  why  a  man 
must  keep  his  word,  he  will  give 
this  as  a  reason,  because  God,  who 
has  the  power  of  eternal  life  and 
death,  requires  it  of  us.  But  if  an 
Hobbist  be  asked  why,  he  will 
answer,  because  the  public  requires 
it,  and  the  Leviathan  w'ill  punish 
you  if  you  do  not.  And  if  one  of 
the  old  heathen  philosophers  had 
been  asked,  he  would  have  an 
swered,  because  it  was  dishonest, 
below  the  dignitynf  man,  and  oppo- 
site to  virtue,  the  highest  perfection 
of  luimai;  nature,  to  do  otherwise.* 
— Locke's  E-'^soy,  i.  3. 

3  Thus  Paley  remarks  that — 
'The  Christi;in  religion  hath  net 
ascertained  the  precise  quantity  of 
virtue  necessary  to  salvation,'  and 
he  then  proct^cls  to  urge  the  pro- 
bability of  graduated  scales  of  re- 
wards and  punishments.  (Morat 
Phdcsophy,  book  i.  ch.  vii.) 


THE    NATURAL    IIISTORT    OF    MORALS.  17 

prudence,  if  there  were  only  a  probability,  or  even  a  bare 
possibility,  of  their  being  real,  a  wise  man  should  regulat;e 
his  coui-se  with  a  view  to  them.' 

Among  these  writers,  however,  some  have  diverged  to 
a  certain  degree  from  tb:)  broad  stream  of  utilitarianism, 
declaring  that  the  foundation  of  the  moral  law  is  not  utility, 
but  the  will  or  arbitrary  decree  of  God.  This  ojjinion. 
which  was  propounded  by  the  schoolman  Ockham,  and  by 
several  other  writers  of  his  age,^  has  in  modern  times  found 
many  adherents,^  and  been  defended  through  a  variety  of 
motives.  Some  have  upheld  it  on  the  philosophical  ground 
that  a  law  can  be  nothing  but  the  sentence  of  a  lawgiver ; 
others  from  a  desire  to  place  morals  in  permanent  subordi- 
nation to  theology ;  others  in  order  to  answer  objections  to 
Christianity  derived  from  apparently  immoral  acts  said  to 
have  been  sanctioned  by  the  Divinity ;  and  others  because 
having  adopted  strong  Oalvinistic  sentiments,  they  were  at 
once   profoundly  opposed  to  utilitarian  morals,  and  at  the 


'  This  view  was  developed  by  quite  fairly.  See  his  theory,  wliich 
Locke  [Essay  on  the  Human  Under-  is  ratner  complicate!  {Divine  Lega- 
standivfl,  book  ii.  eh.  xxi.)  Pascal,  tion,  i.  4).  Waterland  appears  to 
in  a  well-known  passMge,  applied  have  held  this  view,  and  also  Con- 
the  sji  me  argument  to  Christianity,  dillac.  See  a  very  remarkable 
urging  that  the  rewards  and  pun-  chapter  on  morals,  in  his  Truiik 
ishments  it  promises  are  so  great,  des  Aniviaux,  part  ii.  ch.  vii. 
that  it  is  the  part  of  a  wise  man  to  Closely  connected  with  this  doc- 
embrace  the  cr-  ed,  even  though  he  trine  is  the  notion  that  the  moral- 
believes  it  improbable,  if  there  be  Ity  of  God  is  generically  different 
but  a  possibility  in  its  favour.  from  the  morality  of  men,  which 

-  Cudworth,  in  his  Immutahle  having'  been  held  with  mure  or  less 

Morals,  has  collected  the  n^mes  of  distinctness    by  many  theologians 

a   number   of  the  schoolmen  who  (Archbishop  King    being    perhaps 

held   this  view.     See,  too.  an  inte-  the  most  prominent),  has  found  in 

resting  note  in  Miss  Cobbe's  very  our  own  day  an  able   defender  in 

learned  Essay  on  Intuitive  Morals,  Dr.  Mansel.     Much  ii)forniation  on 

pp.  18,   19.  the  history  of  this  doctrine  will  be 

^  E  g.  Soame  Jenyns,  Dr.  John-  found  in  Dr.  Mansel's  Sicond  Leitef 

ton,    Crusius,    Pascal,    Paley,  and  to  Professor  Goldwin  Smith  (Ox- 

Aastin.      Warburton   is  generally  ford,  1862). 
quoted  in  the  list,  buo  not  I  think 


18  HISTOKY    OF    EUKOPEAN    MORALS. 

same  time  too  firmly  convinced  of  the  total  depiavity  of 
human  nature  to  admit  the  existence  of  any  trustworthy 
moral  sense.  ^ 

In  the  majoiity  of  cases,  however,  these  writers  have 
proved  substantially  utilitarians.  "WHien  asked  how  we  can 
know  the  will  of  God,  they  answer  that  in  as  far  as  it  is  not 
included  in  express  revelation,  it  must  be  discovered  by  the 
rule  of  utility ;  for  nature  proves  that  the  Deity  is  supremely 
Ijcnevolent,  and  desires  the  welfare  of  num,  and  therefore 
any  conduct  that  leads  to  that  end  is  in  conformity  with 
His  will. 2  To  the  question  why  the  Divine  will  should  be 
obeyed,  there  are  Ijut  two  answers.  The  first,  which  is  that 
of  the  intuitive  moralist,  is  that  we  are  under  a  natural 
obligation  of  gi-atitude  to  our  Creator.  The  second,  which 
is  that  of  the  selfish  moralist,  is  that  the  Creator  has  infinite 
rewards  and  punishments  at  His  disposal.  The  latter  answer 
appears  usually  to  have  been  adopted,  and  the  most  eminent 
member  has  summed  up  with  great  succinctness  the  opinion 
of  his  school.  '  The  good  of  mankind,'  he  says,  *is  the  sub- 
ject, the  will  of  God  the  rule,  and  everlasting  ha})piness  the 
motive  and  end  of  all  vii'tue.'^ 


'  Leibnitz  noticed  the  frequency  commands -o'hich  He  has  revealed 

with  which  Siiprahipsarian  Calvin-  we   must   g.ither   from  the  terms 

ists   adopt   this   doctrine.     (Tkeo  wherein    they    are     promulgated. 

dhee,  Y>iiTt  u    §  176.)      Archbishop  The  commands  which  He  has  not 

Whately,  who  from  his  connection  revealed  w^e  must  construe  by  the 

•with  the  Iri.-h  Clergy  had  admira-  principle  of  utility.' — Ibid.  p.  96, 

ble  opportunities  of  studying  the  So  Paley's  Moral  Phihsofhy,  book 

tendenci-^s  of  Calvinism,  makes  a  ii.  ch.  iv.  v. 

similar  remark  as  the  result  of  his  ^  Paley's     Mor.d      Fhihrophy, 

own  experience.     ( Whaielys  Life,  book  i.  ch.  vii.     The  question  of 

vol.  ii.  p.  339.)  the  disinterestedness  of  the  lovo-w^ 

^  '  God  designs  the  happiness  of  should  bear  to  God  was  Kgitatedin 

all    His  sentient    creatures.    .    .    .  the  Catholic  Church,  Bossuet  tak- 

Knowing  the  tendencies  of  our  ac-  ing  the  selfish. and  Fenelon  tlieun- 

tions.  and  knowing  His  benevolent  selfish  side.     The  opinicms  of  Fe- 

purpose.  we   know  His  tacit  com-  nelon  and  Molinos  on  the  subject 

mands.' — Austins  Lectures  on  Ju-  were    authoritatively    condemned. 

risjirudcncc,    vol.  i.  p.   31.      'The  In  England,  the  less  dogmatic  cha- 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MOCALS.  19 

We  have  seen  that  the  distinctive  characteristic  of  the 
riidiictive  school  of  moralists  is  an  absolute  denial  of  the 
existence  of  any  natural  or  innate  moral  sense  or  faculty 
enabling  us  to  distinguish  between  the  higher  and  lower 
parts  of  our  nature,  revealing  to  us  either  the  existence  of  a 
law  of  duty  or  the  conduct  that  it  prescribes.  We  have 
seen  that  the  only  postulate  of  these  writers  is  that  happi- 
ness being  universally  desired  is  a  desii'able  thing,  that  the 
only  merit  they  recognise  in  actions  or  feelings  is  their  ten- 
dency to  promote  human  happiness,  and  that  the  only  motive 
to  a  virtuous  act  they  conceive  possible  is  the  real  or  supposed 
happiness  of  the  agent.  The  sanctions  of  morality  thus  consti- 
tute its  obligation,  and  apart  from  them  the  word  '  ought ' 
is  absolutely  unmeaning.  Those  sanctions,  as  we  have 
considered  them,  are  of  different  kinds  and  degrees  of  mag- 
nitude. Paley,  though  elsewhere  acknowledging  the  others, 
regarded  the  religious  one  as  so  immeasurably  the  first,  that 
he  represented  it  as  the  one  motive  of  virtue.^  Locke 
divided  them  into  Divine  rewards  and  punishments,  legal 
penalties  and  social  penalties ;  ^  Bentham  into  phycical, 
political,  moral  or  popular,  and  religious — the  first  being 
the  bodily  evils  that  result  from  vice,  the  second  the  enact- 
ments of  legislators,  the  third  the  pleasures  and  pains 
arising  from  social  intercourse,  the  fourth  the  rewards  and 
punishments  of  another  world.^ 


racter  of  the  national   faith,  and  Tlie  majority  of  divines,  lio-svever, 

also  the  fact  that  the  great  anti-  till   the    present    century,   have,   I 

Christian  writer,  Hohbcs,  was  the  think;  been  on  the  se.fisli  side, 
advocate  of  extreme  sellishness  in  '  Moral  1%'do-ophy,  ii.  3. 

morals,  had.  I  think,  a  favourable  ^  E^say  on  rhc  Human   U-ndcr- 

influence  upon    the  ethics  of   the  standing,  ii.  28. 
church.       Hobbes   gave   the    first  ^  Principles  of  Morals  and  Le- 

great  impulse  to  moral  philosophy  gislation,    ch.    iii.      Mr.    Mill   ob- 

in    England,    and    his    opponents  serves  that,  '  Bentham's  idea  of  the 

^ere  naturally  impelled  to  an  un-  world   is   that  of  a  collectioQ    of 

Beifish   theory.      Eishop   Cumber-  persons  pursuing  each  his  sepai'ate 

bind  led  the  way,  resolving  virtue  interest  or  pleasure,  and  the  pre- 

(like  Hutc.hescn)  into  benevolence,  ventien  of  whom  frCm  jostling  on»j 


20 


HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 


During  the  greater  pai-t  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeentu 
centuries  the  controversy  in  England  between  those  whv 
derived  the  moral  code  from  experience,  and  those  wh» 
derived  it  from  intuitions  of  the  reason,  or  from  a  specia 
faculty,  or  from  a  moral  sense,  or  from  the  power  of  syra 
pathy,  turned  mainly  upon  the  existence  of  an  unselL/iL 
element  in  our  nature.  The  reality  of  this  existence  having 
been  maintained  by  Shaftesbury,  was  established  with  an 
unprecedented,  and  I  believe  an  ii^resistible  force,  by  Hutche- 
SOD,  and  the  same  question  occupies  a  considerable  place  iq 
the  writings  of  Butler,  Hume,  and  Adr^m  Smith.  The 
selfishness  of  the  school  of  Hobbes,  though  in  some  degi-ee 
mitigated,  may  be  traced  in  every  page  of  the  writings  of 
Bentham ;  but  some  of  his  disciples  have  in  this  respect 
de\dated  very  widely  from  their  master,  and  in  their  hands 
the  whole  tone  and  complexion  of  utilitarianism  have  been 
changed.'     The  two  means  by   which    this   transformation 


another  more  than  is  unavoidable, 
may  be  attempted  by  hopes  and 
fears  derived  from  three  sources — 
the  law,  religion,  and  put. lie 
opinion.  To  these  three  powers, 
considered  as  binding  human  con- 
duct, he  gavf  the  name  of  sanc- 
tions ;  the  political  sanction  operat- 
ing by  the  rewards  and  penalties 
of  the  law;  the  religious  sanction 
by  those  expected  from  the  ruler 
of  the  universe  ;  and  the  popular, 
which  he  characteristically  calls 
also  the  moral  sanction,  operating 
through  the  pains  and  pleasures 
arising  from  the  favour  or  disfavour 
of  our  fellow-creatures.' — Diaseria- 
tions,  vol.  i.  pp.  362-363. 

'  Hume  on  this,  as  on  most 
other  points,  was  emphatically  op- 
posed to  the  school  of  Hobbes,  and 
even  declared  that  no  one  could 
honestly  and  in  good  faith  deny 
the  reality  of  ah  urselfish  element 


in  man.  Fallowing  in  the  steps  of 
Butler,  he  explainetl  it  in  tlie  fol- 
lowing passage  : — '  Hunger  and 
thirst  have  eating  and  drinking 
for  their  end,  and  from  the  gratifi- 
cation of  these  primary  appetites 
arises  a  pleasure  which  may  become 
the  object  of  another  species  of  de- 
sire or  inclination  that  is  secondary 
and  interested.  In  the  same  man- 
ner there  are  mental  passions  by 
which  we  are  impelled  immediately 
to  seek  particular  objects,  such  as 
fame  or  power  or  vengeance,  with- 
out any  regard  to  interest,  and 
when  these  ol)jects  are  attained  a 
pleasing  enjoyment  ensues.  .  .  . 
Now  where  is  the  difficulty  of  con- 
ceiving that  this  may  likewise  be 
the  case  with  benevolence  and 
friendship,  and  that  from  the  ori. 
ginal  frame  of  our  temper  we  may 
feel  a  desire  of  another's  happi- 
ness or  good,  which  hy  means  of 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  21 

has  been  effected  are  the  recognition  of  our  unselfish  or 
Bympathedc  feelings,  and  the  doctrine  of  the  association  of 
ideas. 

That  human  nature  is  so  constituted  that  we  naturally 
take  a  pleasure  in  the  sight  of  the  joy  of  others  is  one  of 
those  facts  which  to  an  ordinary  observer  might  well  appear 
among  the  most  patent  that  can  be  conceived.  We  have 
seen,  however,  that  it  was  emphatically  denied  by  Hobbes, 
and  during  the  greater  part  of  the  last  century  it  was 
fashionable  among  writeis  of  the  school  of  Helvetius  to 
endeavour  to  prove  that  all  domestic  or  social  affections 
were  dictated  simi)ly  by  a  need  of  the  person  who  was  be- 
loved. The  reality  of  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  sympathy 
was  admitted  by  Bentham ; '  but  in  accordance  with  the 
whole  spii-it  of  his  philosophy,  he  threw  them  as  much  as 
possible  into  the  background,  and,  as  I  have  already  noticed, 
gave  them  no  place  in  his  summary  of  the  sanctions  of 
virtue.  The  tendency,  however,  of  the  later  members  of 
the  school  has  been  to  recognise  them  fully,^  though  they 


that   affection    becomes    our   own  *  The  sense  of  sj'mpalhy  is  univer- 

good,  and  is  afterwards  pursued,  sal.     Perhaps  there  never  existed 

from    the    comhiucd     motives    of  a  luiman  being  who  had  reached 

benevolence  and  self-enjoymeut?' —  full  age  without  the  experience  of 

Hume's  Enquiry  conarning  Morals,  pleasure   at  another's  pleasure,  of 

Appendix    II.       Compare    Butler,  uneasiness  at  another's  pain.  .  .  . 

'If  there  be  any  appetite  or  any  Community  of  interests,  si/nilarity 

inward  principle  besides  self-love,  of  opinion,  are  sources  from  wJience 

why  may  there  not  be  an  affection  it  springs.' — Deontology,  vol.  i.  pp. 

towards   the  good  of  our  fellow-  169-170. 

creatures,  and  delight  from  that  af-  ^  'The  idea  of  the  pain  of  an- 

fection's   being   gratified   and    un-  other   is   naturally  painful.      The 

easiness  from  things  going  contrary  idea  of  the  pleasure  c-f  another  is 

tcit?' — Sermon  on  Compassion.  naturally  ple.isurable.  .  .  .  In  this, 

'  '  By  sympathetic  sensibility  is  the  unselfish  part  of  our  nature, 

to   be    understood   the    propensity  lies    a   foundation,   even    indepen- 

that  a  man  has  to  derive  pleasure  df  ntly  of  inculcation  from  without, 

from  the  happiness,  and  pain  from  for  the   generation  of   moral  feel- 

the  unhappiness,  of  other  sensitive  ings  ' — Mill's  Disscrlatio?is,  vol  i. 

beings.' — Bentham's  Principles  of  p.  137.     See,  too.  Bain's  Emoiiona 

Morals    and    Legislation,    ch.    \\.  a»c?^Ae  JFi!^/,  pp.  289,  313  ;  and  eo- 


22  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

differ  as  to  the  source  from  which  they  spring.  According 
to  one  section  our  benevolent  affections  are  derived  from  our 
selfish  feelings  by  an  association  of  ideas  in  a  manner  which 
I  shall  presently  describe.  According  to  the  other  they  arc 
an  original  part  of  the  constitution  of  our  nature.  However 
fchey  be  generated,  their  existence  is  admitted,  their  cultiva- 
uion  is  a  main  object  of  morals,  and  the  pleasure  derived 
from  their  exercise  a  leading  motive  to  virtue.  The 
differences  between  the  intuitive  moralists  and  their  rivals 
on  this  point  are  of  two  kinds.  Both  acknowledge  the 
existence  in  human  nature  of  both  benevolent  and  malevo- 
lent feelings,  and  that  we  have  a  natural  power  of  distin- 
guishing one  from  the  other ;  but  the  first  maintain  and  the 
second  deny  that  we  have  a  natural  power  of  perceiving  that 
one  is  better  than  the  other.  Both  admit  that  we  enjoy  a 
pleasure  in  acts  of  benevolence  to  others,  but  most  writers 
of  the  first  school  maintain  that  that  pleasure  follows  un- 
sought for,  while  writers  of  the  other  school  contend  that 
the  desii-e  of  obtaining  it  is  the  motive  of  the  action. 

But  by  far  the  most  ingenious  and  at  the  same  time  most 
influential  system  of  utilitarian  morals  is  that  which  owes 
its  distinctive  feature  to  the  doctrine  of  association  of 
Hartley.  This  doctrine,  which  among  the  modern  achieve- 
ments of  ethics  occupies  on  the  utilitarian  side  a  position 
corresponding  in  importance  to  the  doctrine  of  innate  moral 
faculties  as  distinguished  from  innate  moral  ideas  on  the 
intuitive  side,  was  not  absolutely  unknown  to  the  ancients, 
though  they  never  perceived  either  the  extent  to  which  it 
may  be  carried  or  the  important  consequences  that  might  be 
deduced  from  it.     Some  traces  of  it  may  be  found  in  Aris- 


^ifixaWy  Aust'uVs  Lectures  on  Juris-  in    its    most    plausible     form — a 

'prvdence.     The  first  volume  of  this  statement  equally  remarkable  for 

brilliant  work   contains,    I   think  its  ability,  its  candour,  and  its  ani- 

without  exception,  the  best  modern  form  courtesy  to  opponents. 
statement  of  the  utilitarian  theory 


THE    NATURAL    IILSTORY    OF    MORALS.  23 

tA)l.le,'  aud  some  of  the  Epicureans  applied  it  to  fiiendship, 
maintaining  that,  although  we  first  of  all  love  our  friend  on 
account  of  the  pleasure  he  can  give  us,  we  come  soon  to  love 
him  for  his  own  sake,  and  apart  from  all  considerations  of 
utility.^  Among  moderns  Locke  has  the  merit  of  having 
demised  the  phrase,  '  association  of  ideas ; '  ^  but  he  applied  it 
only  to  some  cases  of  apparently  eccentric  sympathies  or 
antipathies.  Hutcheson,  however,  closely  anticipated  both 
the  doctrine  of  Hartley  and  the  favourite  illustration  of  the 
school ;  observing  that  we  desire  some  things  as  themselves 
pleasurable  and  others  only  as  means  to  obtain  pleasurable 
things,  and  that  these  latter,  which  he  terms  '  secondary 
desires,'  may  become  as  powerful  as  the  former.  *  Thus,  as; 
soon  as  we  come  to  apprehend  the  use  of  wealth  or  power  to 
gratify  any  of  our  original  desires  we  must  also  desii-e  them. 
Hence  arises  the  universality  of  these  desires  of  wealth  and 
power,  since  they  are  the  means  of  gratifying  all  our  desires.'^ 
The  same  pi-inciples  were  carried  much  farther  by  a  clergyman 
named  Gay  in  a  short  dissertation  which  is  now  almost 
forgotten,  but  to  which  Hartley  ascribed  the  first  suggestion 
of  his  theory,^  and  in  which  indeed  the  most  valuable  part 
of  it  is  clearly  laid  down.  Difiering  altogether  from  Hutche- 
son as  to  the  existence  of  any  innate  moral  sense  or  principle 


'  See  a  collection  of  passages  the  objects  of  the  affection ;    hut 

from  Aristotle,  bearing  on  the  sub-  the  very  actions   themselves,  and 

ject,  in  MackintOi?h's  Dissertation.  the  affections  of  pit  j,  kindness,  gra- 

2  Cic.  Be  Finibus,  i.  5.      This  titude,  and  their  contraries,  being 

view  is  adopted  in  Tuckers  Light  brought  into  the  mind  by  reflection 

of  Nature  (ed.  1842),  vcd.  i.  p,  167.  become  objects.     So  that  by  means 

St^e,    too.    Mill's   Analysis    of  the  of  this  reflected  sense,  there  arises 

Kiiman  Mind,xo\.  ii.  p.  174.  another  kind  of  affection  towarda 

^  Essai/,  book  ii.  ch.  xxxiii.  those  very  affections  themselves.' — 

*  Hutcheson    On   the   Passions,  Shaftesbury's    Enqidry  concerning 

§   1.      The    'secondary  desires'  of  Virtue,  book  i.  part  ii.  §  3. 
11  utcheson  are  closely  related  to  the  *  See  the  preface  to  Hartley  On 

'reflex  affections'  of  Shaftesbury.  Man.     Gay's  essay  is  prefixed  to 

'  Not  only  the  outward  beings  which  Law's   translation    of    Archbishop 

:)ffer  themselves  to  the  sense  are  King  On  the  Origin  of  Evil. 


24  HISTOUY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

of  benevolence  in  man,  Gay  admitted  that  the  arguments  of 
Hutcheson  to  prove  that  the  adult  man  possesses  a  moral 
sense  were  iiTesistible,  and  he  attempted  to  reconcile  this  fact 
with  the  teaching  of  Locke  by  the  doctrine  of  '  secondary 
desires.'  He  remarks  that  in  our  reasonings  we  do  not  al- 
ways fall  back  upon  fh'st  principles  or  axioms,  but  sometimes 
start  from  propositions  which  though  not  self-evident  we 
know  to  be  capable  of  proof.  In  the  same  way  in  justifying 
our  actions  we  do  not  always  appeal  to  the  tendency  to 
produce  happiness  which  is  their  one  ultimate  justification, 
but  content  ourselves  by  showing  that  they  produce  some  of 
the  known  'means  to  happiness.'  These  'means  to  happi- 
ness' being  continually  appealed  to  as  justifying  motives 
come  insensibly  to  be  regarded  as  ends,  possessing  an  intrinsic 
value  irrespective  of  their  tendency ;  and  in  this  manner  it  is 
that  we  love  and  admire  virtue  even  when  unconnected  with 
our  interests.  ^ 

The  great  work  of  Hartley  expanding  and  elaborating 
these  views  was  published  in  1747.  It  was  encumbered  by 
much  physiological  speculation  into  which  it  is  needless  for 
us  now  to  enter,  about  the  manner  in  which  emotions  act 
upon  the  nerves,  and  although  accepted  enthusiastically  by 
Priestley  and  Belsham,  and  in  some  degree  by  Tucker,  I  do  not 
tliink  that  its  purely  ethical  speculations  had  much  influence 
until  they  were  adopted  by  some  leading  utilitarians  in  the 


•  '  The  case  is  this.     "We  first  does  not  exist,  but  the  contrary.'  — 

perceive  or  imagine  some  real  good  ;  Gay's  Essay,  p.  lii.     '  All  affections 

i.e.  fitness  to  promote  our  happiness  whatsoever   are  finally  resolvable 

in  those  things  which  we  love  or  a p-  into   reason,  pointing  out  private 

prove  of Hence  those  things  happiness,  and  are  conversant  only 

a. id  pleasures  are  so  tied  together  about   things    apprehended    to    be 

and  associated  in  our  minds,  that  means  tending  to  this    end;    and 

one  cannot  present  itself,  but  the  whenever  this  end  is  not  perceived, 

other  will  also  occur.     And  the  as-  they  are  to  be  accounted  for  from 

sociation  remains  even  after  that  the  association  of  ideas,  and  may 

which  at  first  gave  them  the  con-  properly  enough  be  called  habits. 

dection  is qxiite forgotten,  or  perhaps  — Ibid.  p.  xxsi. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS. 


15 


present  century.^  Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  truth,  it 
is  impossible  to  withhold  some  admiration  from  the  intellec- 
tual grandeur  of  a  system  which  starting  from  a  conception 
of  human  nature  as  low  and  as  base  as  that  of  Mandeville  or 
n  nbbes  professes  without  the  introduction  of  a  single  new  or 
n«  bier  element,  by  a  strange  process  of  philosophic  alchemy, 
to  evolve  out  of  this  original  selfishness  the  most  heroic  and 
most  sensitive  Adrtue.  The  manner  in  which  this  achieve- 
ment is  effected  is  commonly  illustrated  by  the  passion  of 
avarice.  Money  in  itself  possesses  absolutely  nothing  that  is 
admirable  or  pleasurable,  but  being  the  means  of  procuring 
us  many  of  the  objects  of  our  desire,  it  becomes  associated  in 
our  minds  with  the  idea  of  pleasure ;  it  is  therefore  itself 
loved ;  and  it  is  possible  for  the  love  of  money  so  completely 
to  eclipse  or  supersede  the  love  of  all  those  tilings  vz-hich 
money  procures,  that  the  miser  will  forego  them  all,  rather 
than  part  with  a  fraction  of  his  gold.^ 


'  Principally  by  Mr.  JamesMill, 
•whose  chapter  on  association,  in  his 
Analyds  of  the  Human  Mind,  may 
probably  rank  with  Paley's  beauti- 
ful chapter  on  happiness,  at  the 
bead  ot  all  modern  writings  on  the 
utilitarian  side,— either  of  them,  I 
think,  being  far  more  valuable  than 
anything  Bentham  ever  wrote  on 
morals.  This  last  writer — whose 
contempt  for  his  predecessors  was 
only  equalled  by  his  ignorance  of 
their  works,  ar.d  who  has  added 
surprisingly  little  to  moral  science 
(considering  the  reputation  he  at- 
tained), except  a  barbnrous  nomen- 
clature Hud  an  interminable  series 
of  classifications  evincing  no  real 
subtlety  of  thought — makes,  as  far 
as  I  am  aware,  no  use  of  the  doc- 
trine of  association.  Pa  ley  states 
.t  with  his  usual  admirable  clear- 
ness. '  Ha\'ing  experienced  in  some 
iastancos  a  particubir  conduct  to  be 


beneficial  to  ourselves,  or  observed 
that  it  would  be  so,  a  sentiment  of 
approbation  rises  up  in  our  minds, 
which  sentiment  afterwards  accom- 
panies the  idea  or  mention  of  the 
same  conduct,  although  the  private 
advantage  wnich  first  existed  no 
longer  exist.' — Paley,  Moral  Philos. 
\.  5.  Paley,  however,  made  less 
use  of  this  doctrine  than  might  have 
been  expected  from  so  enthusiastic 
an  admirer  of  Tucker.  In  our  own 
day  it  has  been  much  used  by  Mr. 
J.  S.  Mill. 

2  This  illustration,  which  was 
first  employed  by  Ilutcheson,  is 
very  happily  developed  by  Gay  (p. 
Hi.).  It  was  then  used  by  Hartley, 
and  finally  Tucker  reproduced  the 
whole  theory  with  the  usual  illus- 
tration without  any  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  works  of  his  predeces- 
sors, employing  however,  the  temi 
'  translation '   instead  of  '  associu- 


26  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

The  same  phenomenon  may  be  traced,  it  is  said,  in  a 
multitude  of  other  forms.'  Thus  we  seek  power,  because  it 
gives  us  the  means  of  gratifying  many  desires.  It  becomes 
associated  with  those  desires,  and  is,  at  last,  itself  passionately 
loved.  Praise  indicates  the  affection  of  the  eulogist,  and 
marks  us  out  for  the  attection  of  others.  Yalued  at  first  as 
a  me-ans,  it  is  soon  desired  as  an  end,  and  to  such  a  pitch  can 
our  enthusiasm  rise,  that  we  may  sacrifice  all  earthly  things 
for  posthumous  praise  which  can  never  reach  our  ear.  And 
the  force  of  association  may  extend  even  farther.  We  love 
praise,  because  it  procures  us  certain  advantages.  We  then 
love  it  more  than  these  advantages.  We  jDroceed  by  the 
same  process  to  transfer  our  affections  to  those  things  which 
naturally  or  generally  procure  praise.  We  at  last  love  what 
is  praiseworthy  more  than  praise,  and  will  endure  perpetual 
obloquy  rather  than  abandon  it.^  To  this  process,  it  is  said, 
all  our  moral  sentiments  must  be  ascribed.  Man  has  no 
natural  benevolent  feelings.  He  is  at  first  governed  solely 
by  his  interest,  but  the  infant  learns  to  associate  its  i)leasures 
with  the  idea  of  its  mother,  the  boy  with  the  idea  of  his 
family,  the  man  with  those  of  his  class,  his  church,  his 
country,  and  at  last  of  all  mankind,  and  in  each  case  an 
independent  affection  is  at  length  formed.^  The  sight  of 
suffering  in  others  awakens  in  the  child  a  painful  recollection 
of  his  own  sufferings,  which  parents,  by  appealing  to  the 
infant  imagination,  still  further  strengthen,  and  besides, 
'  when  several  children  are  educated  together,  the  pains,  the 


tion'   of   ideas.      See   his   curious  desires  that  occupy  human  life  are 

chapter  on   the   subject,    Light  of  of  this  translated  kind.' — Tucker'a 

Jsaticre,  book  i.  ch.  xviii.  Light  of  Naticre,  vol.  ii.  fed.  1842), 

'  '  It  is  the  nature  of  transla-  p.  281. 

tion  to  throw  desiie  from  the  end  ^  Mill's  Analysis  of  the  Human 

jp<n  the  means,  which  thencefor-  Mind.     The  desire  for  posthamoua 

rari  become  an  end  capable  of  ex-  fame  is  usually  cited  by  intuitive 

citiijg  an  appetite  without  prospect  moralists  as  a  proof  of  a  natarallj 

of  toe  consequences  whereto  they  disinterested  element  in  mau. 

lead.     Our  habits  vnd  most  of  the  '^  Mill's  Analysis. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORI    OF    MORALS.  27 

Jenials  of  pleasure,  and  the  sorrows  which  affect  one  gi*adu 
ally  extend  in  some  degree  to  all ;'  and  thus  the  suffering  c»f 
others  becomes  associated  with  tlie  idea  of  our  own,  and  the 
feeling  of  compassion  is  engendered.  ^  Benevolence  and  j  us- 
tice  are  associated  in  our  minds  with  the  esteem  of  our  fellow - 
men,  with  reciprocity  of  favours,  and  with  the  hope  of  future 
reward.  They  are  loved  at  first  for  these,  and  finally  for 
themselves,  while  opposite  trains  of  association  produce  op- 
posite feelings  towards  malevolence  and  injustice. ^  And  thus 
virtue,  considered  as  a  whole,  becomes  the  supreme  object  of 
our  affections.  Of  all  our  pleasures,  more  are  derived  from 
those  acts  which  are  called  virtuous,  than  from  any  other 
source.  The  virtuous  acts  of  others  procure  us  countless 
advantages.  Our  own  virtue  obtains  for  us  the  esteem  of 
men  and  return  of  favours.  All  the  epithets  of  praise  are 
appropriated  to  virtue,  and  all  the  epithets  of  blame  to  vice. 
Ileligion  teaches  us  to  connect  hopes  of  infinite  joy  with  the 
one,  and  fears  of  infinite  sufi*ering  with  the  other.  Virtue 
becomes  therefore  peculiarly  associated  with  the  idea  of 
pleasurable  things.     It  is  soon  loved,  independently  of  and 


'  Hartley   Oji  Man,  vol.  i.  pp.  degree  of  pleasure  as  to  overrule 

474-475.  the  positive   pain  endured  or  the 

'^  'Benevolence  .  .  .  has  also  a  negative  one  from  the  foregoing  of 
high  degree  of  honour  and  esteem  a  pleasure,  and  yet  how  there  may 
annexed  to  it,  procures  us  many  he  no  direct  explicit  expectation  of 
advantages  and  returns  of  kindness,  reward  either  from  God  or  man,  by 
Loth  from  the  person  obliged  and  natural  consequence  or  express  Mp- 
others,  and  is  most  closely  con-  pointnient,  not  even  of  the  conco- 
nected  with  the  hopes  of  reward  in  mitant  pleasure  that  engages  the 
a  future  state,  an  I  of  self-appro-  agent  to  undertake  the  benevolent 
bation  or  the  moral  sense  ;  and  the  and  generous  action;  and  this  I 
same  things  h^ld  with  respect  to  take  to  be  a  proof  from  the  doc- 
generosity  in  a  much  higher  degree,  trine  of  association  that  there  is 
It  is  easy  therefore  to  see  how  such  and  must  be  such  a  thing  as  pure 
associations  ma}  be  formed  as  to  disinterested  benevolence ;  also  a 
engage  us  to  forego  great  pleasure,  just  account  of  the  origin  and 
or  endure  great  pain  for  the  s  ike  nature  of  it.' — Hartley  On  Man, 
of  others,  how  these  associations  vol.  i.  pp.  473-474.  See  too  Mill's 
may  be  attended  with  so  great  a  Analysis,  \o\.  ii.  p.  252. 


28  HISTORY   OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

more  than  these ;  we  feel  a  glow  of  pleasure  in  practising  it, 
and  an  uitense  pain  in  violating  it.  Conscience,  which  is 
thus  generated,  becomes  the  ruling  principle  of  o\ir  lives, ^ 
and  having  leamt  to  sacrifice  all  earthly  things  rather  than 
disobey  it,  we  rise,  by  an  association  of  ideas,  into  the  loftieei 
region  of  heroism. ^ 

The  influence  of  this  ingenious,  though  I  think  in  some 
respect  fanciful,  theory  depends  less  upon  the  number  than 
upon  the  ability  of  its  adherents.  Though  little  known,  I 
believe,  beyond  England,  it  has  in  England  exercised  a  great 
fascination  over  exceedingly  dissimilar  minds,^  and  it  does 
undoubtedly  evade  some  of  the  objections  to  the  other  forms 
of  the  inductive  theory.  Thus,  when  intuitive  moralists 
contend  that  our  moral  judgments,  being  instantaneous 
and  effected  under  the  manifest  impulse  of  an  emotion  of 
sympathy  or  repulsion,  are  as  far  as  possible  removed  from 
that  cold  calculation  of  interests  to  which  the  utilitarian 
reduces  them,  it  is  answered,  *^hat  the  association  of  ideas  is 


'  Mill's   Analysis,   vol.    ii.  pp.  ed.  1850,  vol.  ii.  p.  192)     '  Wliat 

244-247.  can  be  the  object  of  human  virtue 

2  'With  self-interest,' said  Hart-  but  the  happiness  of  sentient,  still 
ley, 'man  must  begin  ;  he  may  end  more  of  moral  beings?'  (Notes 
in  self-annihilation;'  or  as  Cole-  Theol  and  PoUt.  ^.  Zbl.)  Leibnitz 
ridge  happily  puts  it,  '  Legahty  says,  '  Quand  on  aura  appris  a  faire 
precedes  morality  in  every  indi-  des  actions  louables  par  ambition, 
vidual,  even  as  the  Je\rish  dispen-  on  les  fera  apres  par  inclination,' 
sation  preceded  the  Christian  in  {^SurT Art  de  C07i)iaitre  Ics  H<>mrnes.) 
the  world  at  large.' — Notes  Theclo-  ^  E.g.  Mackintosh  and  James 
cjical  and  I olitical,  p.  340.  It  Mill.  Coleridge  in  his  younger 
might  be  retorted  with  much  truth,  days  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer 
thatwe  begin  by  practising  morality  of  Hartley;  but  chiefly,  I  believe, 
as  a  duty — we  end  by  practising  it  on  account  of  his  theory  of  vibra- 
asa  pleasure,  without  any  reference  tions.  He  named  hi.s  son  after  him, 
to  duty.  Coleridge,  who  expressed  and  described  him  in  one  of  his 
for  the  Benthamite  theories  a  very  poems  as  : — 
cordial  detestation,  sometimes  glid-  '  He  of  mortal  kind 
ed  into  them  himself.  '  The  hap-  Wisest,  the  first  who  marked  the 
piness  of  man,'  he  says,  '  is  the  end  ideal  tribes 
of  virtue,  and  truth  is  the  know-  Up  the  fine  fibres  through  the  sen- 
ledge  of  the  means.'     ( The  Friend,  tient  brain.'     Eeligious  Musings. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS. 


29 


Bufficient  to  engender  a  feeling  which  is  the  proximate  cause 
of  our  decision,^  Alone,  of  all  the  moralists  of  this  school, 
the  disciple  of  Hartley  recognises  conscience  as  a  real  and 
important  element  of  our  nature, ^  and  maintains  that  it  ia 
possible  to  love  virtue  for  itself  as  a  form  of  happiness 
without  any  thought  of  ulterior  consequences.^  The  immense 
value  this  theory  ascribes  to  education,  gives  it  an  unusual 
practical  importance.  When  we  are  balancing  between  a 
crime  and  a  virtue,  our  wills,  it  is  siid,  are  necessarily 
determined  by  the  greater  pleasure.  If  we  find  more  pleasure 
in  the  vice  than  in  the  virtue,  we  inevitably  gravitate  to  evil. 
If  we  find  more  pleasure  in  the  virtue  than  in  the  vice,  we 
are  as  irresistibly  attracted  towards  good.  But  the  strength 
of  such  motives  may  be  immeasurably  enhanced  by  an  early 
association  of  ideas.  If  we  have  been  accustomed  from 
childhood  to  associate  our  ideas  of  praise  and  pleasure  with 


^  This  position  is  elaborated  in 
a  passage  too  long  for  quotation  by 
Mr.  Austin.  {Lectures  on  Juris- 
prudence, vol.  i.  p.  44  ) 

'  Hobbes  defines  co  science  as 
'the  opinion  of  evidence'  (On  Hu- 
man Nature,  ch.  vi.  §  8).  Locke  as 
'our  own  opinion  or  judgment  of 
the  moi-al  rectitude  or  pravity  of 
our  own  actions'  {Essay,  book  i. 
ch.  iii.  §  8).  In  Beutham  there  is 
very  little  on  the  subject ;  but  in 
one  place  he  informs  us  that  '  con- 
science is  a  thing  of  fictitious  ex- 
istence, supposed  to  occupy  a  seat 
in  the  mind'  {Deontology,  vol.  i.  p. 
137)  ;  and  in  another  he  ranks  '  love 
of  duty  '  (which  he  describes  as  an 
'impossible  motive,  in  so  far  as 
duty  is  synonymous  to  obligation ') 
as  a  variety  of  the  '  lore  of  power ' 
{Springs  of  Action,  ii.)  IVIr.  Bain 
Bays,  'conscience  is  an  imitation 
within  ourselves  of  the  government 
without  us.'  {Emotions  and  Will, 
p  313.) 


^  '  However  much  they  [utili- 
tarians] may  believe  (as  they  do) 
that  actions  and  dispositions  are 
only  virtuous  because  they  promote 
another  end  than  virtue,  yet  this 
being  granted  .  .  .  they  not  only 
place  virtue  at  the  very  head  of  the 
things  which  are  good  as  means  to 
the  ultimate  end,  but  they  also  re- 
cognise as  a  psychological  fact  the 
possibility  of  its  being  to  the  indi- 
vidual a  good  in  itself. .  .  .  Virtue, 
according  to  the  utilitarian  doc- 
trine, is  not  naturally  and  origi- 
nally part  of  the  end,  but  it  is  capa- 
ble of  becoming  so.  .  .  .  What  was 
once  desired  as  an  instrument  foi 
the  attainmert  of  happiness  has 
come  to  be  desired  ...  as  part  ot 
happiness.  .  .  .  Human  nature  is 
so  constituted  as  to  desire  nothing 
which  is  not  either  a  part  of  happi- 
ness or  a  means  of  happiness.' — J, 
S.  Mill's  UtiHtarianism,  pp.  54,  dij^ 
56,  58. 


30 


HISTOKY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


vdi'tue,  we  shall  readily  yield  to  virtuous  motiTes ;  if  with 
vice,  to  vdcious  ones.  This  readiness  to  yield  to  one  •  or 
other  set  of  motives,  constitutes  disposition,  which  is  thus, 
according  to  these  moralists,  altogether  an  artificial  thing, 
the  pi-oduct  of  education,  and  effected  by  association  of  ideas.' 
It  will  be  observed,  however,  that  this  theory,  refined 
and  imposing  as  it  may  appear,  is  still  essentially  a  selfish 
one.  Even  when  saci'ificing  all  earthly  objects  through  lo\e 
of  virtue,  the  good  man  is  simply  seeking  his  greatest  enjoy- 
ment, indulging  a  kind  of  mental  luxury  which  gives  him 
more  pleasure  than  what  he  foregoes,  just  as  the  miser  finda 
more  pleasure  in  accumulation  than  in  any  form  of  expendi- 
ture.2    Tliere  has  been,  indeed,  one  attempt  to  emancipate  the 


•  '  A  man  is  tempted  to  commit 
adultery  witli  the  wife  of  his  friend. 
The  composition  of  the  motive  is 
obvious.  He  does  not  obey  the 
motive.  Why  ?  He  obeys  other 
motives -which  are  stronger.  Though 
pleasures  are  associated  witli  the 
immoral  act,  pains  are  associated 
with  it  also— the  pains  of  the  in- 
jured husband,  the  pains  of  the 
wife,  the  moral  indignation  of 
mankind,  t!ie  future  reproaches  of 
his  own  mind.  Some  men  obey 
the  first  Trither  than  the  second 
motive.  The  reason  is  obvious. 
In  these  the  association  of  the  act 
with  the  pleasure  is  from  habit  un- 
duly strong,  the  association  of  the 
act  with  pains  is  from  want  of 
habit  unduly  weak.  This  is  the  case 
of  a  bad  education.  .  .  .  Among 
the  diflfi^rent  cLisses  of  motives, 
1  here  are  men  who  are  more  easily 
and  strongly  operated  on  by  some, 
others  by  others.  We  have  also 
Been  that  this  is  entirely  owing  to 
habits  of  association.  This  facility 
of  being  acted  upon  by  motives  of 
a  particular    description,   is   tiiat 


which  wc  call  disposition.' — Mill's 
Avali/sis,  vol.  ii.  pp.  212,  213,  &e. 
Adam  Smith  says,  I  think  with 
much  wisdom,  that  'the  great  se- 
cret of  education  is  to  direct  vanity 
to  proper  objects.' — Moral  Senti- 
ments, part  vi.  §  3. 

*  '  Goodness  in  ourselves  is  the 
prospect  of  satisfaction  annexed  to 
the  welfare  of  others,  so  that  we 
please  them  for  the  pleasure  wo 
receive  ourselves  in  so  doing,  or  to 
avoid  the  uneasiness  we  should 
feel  in  omitting  it.  But  God  is 
completely  happy  in  Himself,  nor 
can  His  happiness  receive  increase 
or  diminution  from  anything  be- 
falling His  creatures  ;  wherefore 
His  goodne.es  is  pure,  disinterested 
bounty,  without  any  return  of  joy 
or  satisfaction  to  Himself.  There- 
fore it-  is  no  wonder  we  have  im- 
perfect notions  of  a  quality  whereof 
we  have  no  experience  in  our  own 
nature.' — Tucker  s  Light  of  Nature, 
vol.  i.  p.  355.  '  It  is  the  privilege 
of  God  alone  to  act  upon  pure,  dis- 
interested bounty,  without  the  least 
addition  thereby  to  His  own  enj'j' 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MOKALS.  31 

theory  from  tMs  condition,  but  it  appears  to  me  altogether 
futile.  It  has  been  said  that  men  in  the  first  instance  in- 
dulge in  baneful  excesses,  on  account  of  the  pleasure  they 
afford,  but  the  habit  being  contracted,  continue  to  practise 
them  after  they  have  ceased  to  afford  pleasure,  and  that  a 
similar  law  may  operate  in  the  case  of  the  habit  of  virtue.* 
But  the  reason  why  men  who  have  contracted  a  habit  con- 
tinue to  practise  it  after  it  has  ceased  to  give  them  positive 
eujoyment,  is  because  to  desist,  creates  a  restlessness  and 
uneasiness  which  amounts  to  acute  mental  pain.  To  avoid 
that  pain  is  the  motive  of  the  action. 

The  reader  who  has  perused  the  passages  I  have  accumu- 
lated in  the  notes,  will  be  able  to  judge  with  what  degree  of 
justice  utilitarian  writers  denounce  with  indignation  the 
imputation  of  selfishness,  as  a  calumny  against  their  system. 
It  is  not,  I  think,  a  strained  or  unnatural  use  of  language 
to  describe  as  selfish  or  interested,  all  actions  which  a  man 
performs,  in  order  himself  to  avoid  suffering  or  acquii-e  the 


ment.' — Ibid.  vol.  ii.  p.  279.     On  pleasure  of  tho  action  itself.     But 

the  other  band,    Hutcheson   asks,  graiting  this,  the  matter  does  not 

'If    there  be  such  disposition   in  end  here.     As  we   proceed  in  tho 

the   Deity,    where  is  the  inipossi-  formation  of  habits,  and    become 

bility  ot  some  small  degree  of  this  accustomed  to  will  a  particular  act 

public  love  iu  Ills  creatures,  and  .  .  .  because  it  is  pleasurable,  wo 

why  must  they   be   supposed    in-  at  last  contin\ie  to  will  it  without 

capable  of  acting  but  from  self-  any  reference  to  its  being  pleasur- 

lovc?' — Enquiry  conccraivg  Moral  able.  .  .  .  In  this  manner  it  is  that 

Good,  §  2.  habits  of  hurtful  excess  continue  to 

'  'Wo  gradually-,  through   the  be  practised,  although  they  have 

influence   of  association,    come  to  ceased   to   be  pleasurable,  and  in 

desire  the  means  without  tliinking  this   manner   also   it   is   that  the 

of  the  end  ;    the  action   itself  be-  habit  of  willing  to  persevere  in  the 

comes  an   object  of  desire,  and  is  course  which   he  has   chosen,  does 

performed  without  reference  to  any  not  desert    the    moral    hero,   even 

motive  beyond  itself.     Thus  far,  it  when  the  reward  ...  is  anything 

may  still  be  objected  that  the  action  but  an  equivalent  for  the  suffering 

having,    through    association,    be-  he  undergoes,  or  the  wishes  he  may 

come  pleasurable,  we  are  as  much  have   to    renounce.' — Mill's    Logic 

as  before  moved  to  act  by  the  an-  (4th  edition),  vol.  ii.  pp.  416,  417 
ticipation  of  pleasure,  namely,  the 


32 


History  of  European  morals. 


greatest  possible  enjoymeiit.  If  this  be  so,  the  term  selfish 
is  strictl}'  appbcable  to  all  the  branches  of  this  system.  ^  At 
the  same  time  it  must  he  acknowledged,  that  there  is  a  broad 
difference  between  the  refined  hedonism  of  the  utilitarian:? 
we  have  last  noticed,  and  the  writings  of  Hobbes,  of  Mande- 
ville,  or  of  Paley.  It  must  be  acknowledged,  also,  that 
not  a  few  intuitive  or  stoical  moralists  have  spoken  of  the 
pleasure  to  be  derived  from  A^irtue  in  language  little  if  at  all 
different  from  these  writers.^  The  maia  object  of  the  earlier 
members  of  the  inductive  school,  was  to  depress  human 
nature  to  their  standard,  by  resohing  all  the  noblest  actions 
into  coarse  and  selfish  elements.  The  main  object  of  some 
of  the  more  influential  of  the  later  members  of  this  school, 


'  '  In  regard  to  interest  in  the 
most  extended,  -which  is  the  origi- 
nal and  only  strictly  proper  sense 
of  the  word  disinterested,  no  human 
act  has  ever  been  or  ever  can  be 
disinterested.  ...  In  the  only 
sense  in  which  disinterestedness 
Ciin  with  truth  be  predicated  of 
human  actions,  it  is  employed  .  .  . 
to  denote,  not  the  absence  of  all 
interest  .  .  .  but  only  the  absence 
of  all  interest  of  the  self-regarding 
class.  Not  but  that  it  is  vei-y  fre- 
quently predicated  of  human  action 
in  cases  in  which  divers  interests, 
to  no  one  of  which  the  appellation 
of  self-regarding  can  with  propriety 
le  denied,  have  been  exercising 
their  influence,  and  in  particular 
fear  of  God,  or  hope  from  God,  and 
fear  of  ill-repute,  or  hope  of  good 
repute.  If  wh;it  is  above  be  cor- 
rect, the  most  disinterested  of  men 
is  not  less  imder  the  dominion  of 
interest  than  the  mf>st  interested. 
The  only  cause  of  his  being  styled 
disinterested,  is  its  not  having  been 
Disserved  that  the  sort  of  motive 
{suppose  it  sympathy  for  an  inili* 


vidual  or  class)  has  as  truly  a  cor- 
responding interest  belonging  to  it 
as  any  other  species  of  motive  has. 
Of  this  contradiction  between  the 
truth  of  the  case  and  the  language 
employed  in  speaking  of  it,  the 
cause  is  tliat  m  the  one  case  men 
haA-e  not  been  in  the  habit  of 
making — as  in  point  of  consisrency 
they  ought  to  have  made — of  the 
word  interest  that  use  which  in  the 
other  case  they  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  making  of  it.'— Beutham's 
Sjyi-ivgs  of  ActioJi,  ii.  §  2. 

2  Among  others  B:shop  Butler, 
who  draws  some  very  subtle  dis- 
tinctions on  the  subject  in  his  first 
sermon  '  on  the  love  of  our  neigh- 
bour.' Dugald  Stewart  remarks 
that  '  although  we  apply  the  epi- 
thet selfish  to  avarice  and  to  low 
and  private  sensuality,  we  never 
apply  it  to  the  desire  of  know- 
ledge or  to  the  pursuits  of  %-irtue, 
which  are  certainly  sources  of  more 
exquisite  pleasure  than  riches  or 
sensuality  can  bestow.' — Active  and 
Moral  Pouer.%  vol.  i.  p.  19. 


THE    Nj^TCRAL    history    OF    MORALS.  33 

has  been  to  sublimate  their  conceptions  of  happiness  and 
interest  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  include  the  highest  displays 
of  heroism.  As  we  have  seen,  they  fully  admit  that  conscience 
is  a  i-eal  thing,  and  should  be  the  supreme  guide  of  our 
liv-^s,  though  they  contend  that  it  springs  originally  from 
selfishness,  transformed  under  the  influence  of  the  association 
of  ideas.  They  acknowledge  the  reality  of  the  sympathetic 
feelings,  though  they  usually  trace  them  to  the  same  source. 
They  cannot,  it  is  true,  consistently  with  their  principles, 
recognise  the  possibility  of  conduct  which  is  in  the  strictest 
'^ense  of  the  word  unselfish,  but  they  contend  that  it  is  quite 
possible  for  a  man  to  find  his  highest  pleasure  in  saciificiag 
himself  for  the  good  of  others,  that  the  association  of  vii'tue 
and  pleasure  is  only  perfect  when  it  leads  habitually  to 
spontaneous  and  uncalculating  action,  and  that  no  man  is  in 
a  healthy  moral  condition  who  does  not  find  more  pain  in 
committing  a  crime  than  he  could  derive  pleasure  from  any 
of  its  consequences.  The  theory  in  its  principle  remains 
unchanged,  but  in  the  hands  of  some  of  these  writers  the 
spirit  has  wholly  altered. 

Having  thus  ,given  a  brief,  but,  I  trust,  clear  and  faithful 
account  of  the  difierent  modifications  of  the  inductive  theory, 
I  shall  proceed  to  state  some  of  the  piincipal  objections  that 
have  been  and  may  be  brought  against  it.  I  shall  then 
endeavour  to  define  and  defend  the  opinions  of  those  who 
believe  that  our  moral  feelings  are  an  essential  part  of  our 
constitution,  developed  by,  but  not  derived  from  education, 
and  1  shall  conclude  this  chapter  by  an  enquiry  into  the 
order  of  their  evolution ;  so  that  having  obtained  some 
notion  of  the  natural  history  of  morals,  we  may  be  able,  in 
the  ensuing  chapters,  to  judge,  how  far  their  normal  progress 
has  been  accelerated  or  retarded  by  religious  or  political 
agencies. 

'Psychology,'  it  has  been  truly  said,  'is  but  developed 


34  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

consciousness.'^  When  moralists  assert,  that  what  we  call 
virtue  derives  its  reputation  solely  from  its  utility,  and  that 
the  interest  or  pleasure  of  the  agent  is  the  one  motive  to 
practise  it,  our  first  question  is  naturally  how  far  this  theory 
agrees  with  the  feelings  and  with  the  language  of  mankind. 
But  if  tested  by  this  criterion,  there  never  was  a  doctrine 
more  emphatically  condemned  than  utilitarianism.  In  all 
its  stages,  and  in  all  its  assertions,  it  w  in  direct  opposition 
to  common  language  and  to  common  sentiments.  In  all 
nations  and  in  all  ages,  the  ideas  of  interest  and  utility  on 
the  one  hand  and  of  viii;ue  on  the  other,  have  been  regarded 
by  the  multitude  as  perfectly  distinct,  and  all  languages  re- 
cognise the  distinction.  The  terms  honour,  justice,  rectitude 
or  virtue,  iind  their  equivalents  in  every  language,  present  to 
the  mind  ideas  essentially  and  broadly  difiering  fi'om  the 
terms  prudence,  sagacity,  or  interest.  The  two  lines  of  con- 
duct may  coincide,  but  they  are  never  confused,  and  we  have 
not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  imagining  them  antagonistic. 
When  we  say  a  man  is  governed  by  a  high  sense  of  honour, 
or  by  strong  moral  feeling,  we  do  not  mean  that  he  is  pm- 
dently  pursuing  either  his  own  interests  or  the  interests  of 
society.  The  universal  sentiment  of  mankind  represents 
self-sacrifice  as  an  essential  element  of  a  meritorious  act,  and 
means  by  self-sacrifice  the  deliberate  adoption  of  the  least 
pleasurable  course  without  the  prospect  of  any  pleasure  in 
return.  A  selfish  act  may  be  innocent,  but  cannot  be  vir- 
tuous, and  to  ascribe  all  good  deeds  to  selfish  motives,  is  not 
the  distortion  but  the  negation  of  virtue.  No  Epicurean 
could  avow  before  a  popular  audience  that  the  one  end  of  his 
life  was  the  pursuit  of  his  own  happiness  without  an  outbuist 
of  indignation  and  contempt.^  No  man  could  consciously 
make  this — which  according  to  the  selfish  theory  is  the  only 
rational  and  indeed  possible  motive  of  action — the  deliberate 


>  Sir  W.  Hamilton.  ^  cic.  De  Fin.  lib.  ii. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  35 

object  of  all  his  undertakings,  without  his  character  hecomiug 
despicable  and  degraded.     Whether  we  look  within  ourselves 
or   examine   the   conduct   either   of  our  enemies  or  of  our 
fiiends,  or  adjudicate  upon  the  characters  in  history  or  in 
fiction,  our  feelings  on    these  matters    are    the  same.       In 
exact  proportion  as  we  believe  a  desire  for  personal  enjoy- 
ment to  be  the  motive  of  a  good  act  is  the  merit  of  the  agent 
diminished.     If  we  believe  the  motive  to  be  wholly  selfish 
the  merit  is  altogether  destroyed.     If  we  believe  it  to  be 
wholly  disinterested  the  merit  is  altogether  unalloyed.  Hence, 
the  admii-ation  bestowed  upon  Prometheus,  or  suflering  virtue 
constant  beneath  the  blows  of  Almighty  malice,  or  on  the 
atheist  who  with  no  prospect  of  future  reward  suffered  a 
fearful  death,  rather  than  abjure  an  opinion  which  could  be 
of  no  benefit  to  society,  because  he  believed  it  to  be  the  truth. 
Selfish  moralists  deny  the  possibility  of  thf^  which  all  ages, 
all  nations,  all  popular  judgments  pronounce  to  have  been 
the  characteristic  of   every  noble  act   that    has  ever   been 
performed.      Now,  when  a  philosophy  wliich  seeks  by  the 
light   of  consciousness  to  decipher  the   laws   of  our   moral 
being    proves  so    diametrically  opposed    to    the  conclusions 
arrived  at  by  the  great  mass  of  mankind,  who  merely  follow 
their  consciousness  without  endeavouring  to  frame  systems 
of  philosophy,  that   it   makes  most  of  the  distinctions    of 
common  ethical  language  absolutely  unmeaning,  this  is,  to 
say  the  least,  a  strong   presumption  against  its  truth.     If 
Moliere's  hero   had  been  speaking  prose  all  his  life  without 
knowing  it,  this  was  simply  because  he  did  not  understand 
what  prose  was.     In  the  present  case  we  are  asked  to  believe 
that  men  have  been  under  a  total  delusion  about  the  leadinsj 
principles  of  their  lives  which  they  had  distinguished  by  a 
whole  vocabulary  of  terms. 

It  is  said  that  the  case  becomes  diffeient  when  the 
pleasure  sought  is  not  a  gross  or  material  enjoyment,  but 
the  satisfaction  of  performed  vii-tue.     I  suspect  that  if  men 


36  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

could  persuade  themselves  that  tlie  one  motive  of  a  virtuous 
man  was  the  certainty  that  the  act  he  accomplished  would 
be  followed  by  a  glow  of  satisfaction  so  intense  as  more  than 
to  compensate  for  any  sacrifice  he  might  have  made,  the 
difference  would  not  be  as  great  as  is  supposed.  In  fact, 
however — and  the  consciousness  of  this  lies,  I  conceive,  it 
the  root  of  the  opinions  of  men  upon  the  subject — the  pleasure 
of  virtue  is  one  which  can  only  be  obtained  on  the  ex2jr3ss 
condition  of  its  not  being  the  object  sought.  Phenomena  of 
this  kind  are  familiar  to  us  all.  Thus,  for  example,  it  has 
often  been  observed  that  prayer,  by  a  law  of  our  natui-e 
and  apart  from  all  supernatural  intervention,  exercises  a 
reflex  influence  of  a  very  beneficial  character  upon  the  minds 
of  the  worshippers.  The  man  who  ofiers  up  his  petitions 
with  passionate  earnestness,  with  unfaltering  faith,  and  with 
a  vivid  realisation  of  the  presence  of  an  Unseen  Being  has 
risen  to  a  condition  of  mind  which  is  itself  erainently 
favourable  both  to  his  ovm  happiness  and  to  the  expansion 
of  his  moral  qualities.  But  he  who  expects  nothing  more 
will  never  attain  this.  To  him  who  neither  believes  nor 
hopes  that  his  petitions  will  receive  a  response  such  a  mental 
state  is  impossible.  No  Protestant  before  an  image  of  the 
Virgin,  no  Christian  before  a  pagan  idol,  could  possibly  attain 
it.  If  prayers  were  offered  up  solely  with  a  view  to  this 
benefit,  they  would  be  absolutely  sterile  and  would  speedily 
cease.  Thus  again,  certain  political  economists  have  con- 
tended that  to  give  money  in  charity  is  worse  than  useless, 
that  it  is  positively  noxious  to  society,  but  they  have  added 
that  the  gratification  of  our  benevolent  affections  is  pleasing 
to  ourselves,  and  that  the  pleasure  we  derive  from  this 
source  may  be  so  much  greater  than  the  evil  resulting  from 
our  gift,  that  we  may  justly,  according  to  the  *  greatest 
happiness  principle,'  purchase  this  large  amount  of  gratifi- 
cation to  ourselves  by  a  slight  injury  to  our  neighbours. 
The  pcilitical  economy  involved  in  this  very  characteristic 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  37 

ipecinien  of  utilitarian  ethics  I  shall  hereafter  examine.  At 
present  it  is  sufficient  to  observe  that  no  one  who  consciously 
practised  benevolence  solely  from  this  motive  could  obtain 
the  pleasure  in  question.  We  receive  enjoyment  from  tht 
thought  that  we  have  done  good.  We  never  could  receive 
that  enjoyment  if  we  believed  and  realised  that  we  were  doing 
harm.  The  same  thing  is  pre-eminently  true  of  the  satisfac- 
tion of  conscience.  A  feeling  of  satisfaction  follows  the  ac- 
complishment of  duty  for  itself,  but  if  the  duty  be  performed 
solely  through  the  expectation  of  a  mental  pleasure  conscience 
refuses  to  ratify  the  bargain. 

There  is  no  fact  more  conspicuous  in  human  nature  than 
the  broad  distinction,  both  in  kind  and  degree,  drawn  be- 
tween the  moral  and  the  other  parts  of  our  nature.  But 
this  on  utilitarian  principles  is  altogether  unaccountable.  If 
the  excellence  of  virtue  consists  solely  in  its  utility  or  tendency 
to  promote  the  happiness  of  men,  we  should  be  compelled  to 
canonise  a  crowd  of  acts  which  are  utterly  remote  from  all 
our  ordinary  notions  of  morality.  The  whole  tendency  of 
political  economy  and  philosophical  history  which  reveal  the 
physiology  of  societies,  is  to  show  that  the  happiness  and 
welfare  of  mankind  are  evolved  much  more  from  our  selfish 
than  from  what  are  tei-med  our  virtuous  acts.  The  pros- 
perity of  nations  and  the  progress  of  civilisation  are  mainly 
due  to  the  exertions  of  men  who  while  pursuing  strictly  their 
own  interests,  were  unconsciously  promoting  the  interests  of 
the  community.  The  selfish  instinct  that  leads  men  to  accu- 
mulate, confers  ultimately  more  advantage  upon  the  world 
than  the  generous  instinct  that  leads  men  to  give.  A  great 
historian  has  contended  with  some  force  that  intellectual  de- 
'\-elopment  is  more  important  to  societies  than  moral  develop- 
ment. Yet  who  ever  seriously  questioned  the  reality  of  the 
distinction  that  separates  these  things  1  The  reader  will 
probably  exclaim  that  the  key  to  that  distinction  is  to  be 
found  in  the  motive ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  tlie 


38 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


utilitarian  school  tliat  the  motive  of  the  agent  has  absolutely 
uo  influence  on  the  morality  of  the  act.  According  to  Ben- 
tham,  there  i«  but  one  motive  possible,  the  pursuit  of  car  own 
enjoyment.  The  most  virtuous,  the  most  vicious,  and  the 
most  indifferent  of  actions,  if  measured  by  this  test,  would 
be  exactly  the  same,  and  an  investigation  of  motives  should 
therefore  be  altogether  excluded  from  our  moral  judgments.- 
Whatever  test  we  adopt,  the  difficulty  of  accounting  for  the 
unique  and  pre-eminent  position  mankind  have  assigned  to 
virtue  will  remain.  If  we  judge  by  tendencies,  a  crowd  of 
objects  and  of  acts  to  which  no  moi-tal  ever  di-eamed  of  as- 
"*.ribing  virtue,  contribute  largely  to  the  happiness  of  man. 
[f  we  judge  by  motives,  the  moralists  we  are  reviewing  have 
denied  all  generic  difference  between  prudential  and  ^di'tuous 


'  *As  there  is  not  any  sort  of 
pleasure  that  is  not  itself  a  good, 
nor  any  sort  of  pain  the  exemption 
from  which  is  not  a  goo.l,  and  as 
nothing  but  the  expectation  of  the 
eventual  enjoyment  of  pleasure  in 
some  shape,  or  of  exemption  from 
pain  in  some  shape,  can  operate  in 
the  character  of  a  motive,  a  neces- 
sary consequence  is  that  if  by  mo- 
tive be  meant  sort  of  motive,  there 
is  not  any  such  thing  as  a  bad 
motive.'  —  Bentham's  Springs  of 
Actio7i,  ii.  §  4.  The  first  clauses 
of  the  following  passage  I  have  al- 
ready quoted  :  '  Pleasure  is  itself  a 
good,  nay,  setting  aside  immunity 
from  pain,  the  only  good.  Pain  is 
in  itself  an  evil,  and  indeed,  with- 
out exception,  the  only  evil,  or  else 
the  words  good  and  evil  have  no 
meaning.  And  this  is  alike  true  of 
every  sort  of  pain,  and  of  every  sort 
of  pleasure.  It  follows  therefore 
immediately  and  incontestably  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  any  sort 
of  motive  that  is  in  itself  a  bad 
one.' — Principles   of  Morals    and 


Legislation,  ch.  ix.  'The  searcl 
after  motive  is  one  of  the  prominent 
causes  of  men's  bewilderment  in 
the  investigation  of  questions  of 
morals.  .  .  .  But  this  is  a  pursuit 
in  which  every  moment  employed 
is  a  moment  wasted.  All  motives 
are  abstractedly  good.  No  man 
has  ever  had.  can,  or  could  have  a 
motive  different  from  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure  or  of  shunning  pain.' — ■ 
Deontology,  vol.  i.  p.  126.  Mr, 
Mill's  doctrine  appears  somewhat 
different  from  this,  but  the  differ- 
ence is  I  think  only  apparent.  He 
says:  'The  mrtive  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  morality  of  the  action, 
though  much  with  the  worth  of  the 
agent,'  and  he  afterv\-ards  explains 
this  last  statement  by  saying  that 
the  '  motive  makes  a  great  differ- 
ence in  our  moral  estimation  of  the 
agent,  especially  if  it  indicates  a 
good  or  a  bad  habitual  disposition, 
a  bent  of  character  from  which  use- 
ful or  from  vhich  hurtful  actions 
are  likely  to  arise.' — Utilitarian 
ism,  2nd  ed.  pp.  26-27. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  H9 

motives.  If  we  judge  by  intentions,  it  is  certain  that  Low- 
ever  much  truth  or  chastity  may  contribute  to  the  happiness 
of  mankind,  it  is  not  with  philanthropic  intentions  that  those 
virtues  are  cultivated. 

It  is  often  said  that  intuitive  moralists  in  their  reasonings 
are  guilty  of  continually  abandoning  theii'  principles  by  them- 
selves appealing  to  the  tendency  of  certain  acts  to  promote 
human  happiness  as  a  justification,  and  the  charge  is  usually 
accompanied  by  a  challenge  to  show  any  confessed  virtue  that 
has  not  that  tendency.  To  the  first  objection  it  may  be 
shortly  answered  that  no  intuitive  moralist  ever  dreamed  of 
doubting  that  benevolence  or  charity,  or  in  other  words,  the 
promotion  of  the  happiness  of  man,  is  a  duty.  He  mainta'ns 
that  it  not  only  is  so,  but  that  we  arrive  at  this  fact  by  direct 
intuition,  and  not  by  the  discovery  that  such  a  course  is 
conducive  to  our  own  interest.  But  while  he  cordially 
recognises  this  branch  of  virtue,  and  while  he  has  therefore  a 
perfect  right  to  allege  the  beneficial  eflects  of  a  virtue  in  its 
defence,  he  refuses  to  admit  that  all  virtue  can  be  reduced  to 
this  single  principle.  With  the  general  sentiment  of  mcankind 
he  regards  charity  as  a  good  thing  only  because  it  is  of  use 
to  the  world.  With  the  same  general  sentiment  of  mankind 
be  believes  that  chastity  and  truth  have  an  independent  value, 
distinct  from  their  influence  upon  happiness.  To  the  question 
whether  every  confessed  virtue  is  conducive  to  human  happi- 
ness, it  is  less  easy  to  reply,  for  it  is  usually  extremely  diffi- 
cult to  calculate  the  remote  tendencies  of  acts,  and  ia  cases 
where,  in  the  common  apprehension  of  mankind,  the  morality 
is  very  clear,  the  consequences  are  often  very  obscure.  Not- 
withstanding the  claim  of  great  piecision  which  utilitarian 
writers  so  boastfully  make,  the  standard  by  which  they  pro- 
fess to  measui-e  morals  is  itself  absolutely  incapable  of  defini 
tion  or  accurate  explanation.  Happiness  is  one  of  the  most 
indeterminate  and  undefinable  words  in  the  language,  and 
what  are  the  conditions  of  '  the  greatest  possible  happiness ' 


40  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

no  one  can  precisely  say.  No  two  nations,  perhaps  no  two 
individuals,  would  find  them  the  same.'  And  even  if  every 
virtuous  act  were  incontestably  useful,  it  by  no  means  follows 
that  its  virtue  is  derived  from  its  utility. 

It  may  be  readily  granted,  that  as  a  general  rule  those 
acts  which  we  call  virtuous,  are  unquestionably  productive 
of  happiness,  if  not  to  the  agent,  at  least  to  mankind  in 
general,  but  we  have  already  seen  that  they  have  by  no  means 
til  at  monopoly  or  pre-eminence  of  utihty  which  on  utilitarian 
principles,  the  unique  position  assigned  to  them  would  appear 
to  imply.  It  may  be  added,  that  if  we  were  to  proceed  in 
detail  to  estimate  acts  by  their  consequences,  we  should  soon 
be  led  to  very  startling  conclusicns.  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
obvious  that  if  virtues  are  only  good  because  they  promote, 
a,nd  ^dces  only  evil  because  they  impair  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind, the  degrees  of  excellence  or  criminality  must  be  strictly 
proportioned  to  the  degrees  of  utility  or  the  reverse.  ^  Every 
action,  every  disposition,  every  class,  every  condition  of 
society  must  take  its  place  on  the  moral  scale  precisely  in 
accordance  with  the  degree  in  which  it  promotes  or  diminishes 
human  happiness.  Now  it  is  extremely  questionable,  whether 
some  of  the  most  monstrous  forms  of  sensuality  which  it  is 
scarcely  possible  to  name,  cause  as  much  unhappiness  as  some 
infirmities  of  temper,  or  procrastination  or  hastiness  of  judg- 
ment. It  is  scarcely  doubtful  that  a  modest,  diffident,  and 
retiring  nature,  distrustful  of  its  own  abilities,  and  shrinking 
with  humility  from  conflict,  produces  on  the  whole  less  bene- 
fit to  the  world  than  the  self-assertion  of  an  audacious  and 
arrogajit  nature,  which  is  impelled  to  every  struggle,  and  de- 


'  This  truth  has  been  admirably  on  les  achete  :  IVxmlant  en  Liec 

illuslrated  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  me&tire  la  valeur  de  la  vertr,  eonime 

[Social  Statics,  pp.  1-8).  Texcedant  en  mal  mesurele  degre 

2  •  On  evalue  la  grandeur  de  la  de  haine  que  cloit  iiispirer  le  vice.' 

vertu  en  eomparant  les  biens   ob-  — Cli.  Comte.  2'raite  de  Legislation, 

tenus  aux  maux  au  prix  desquels  liv.  ii.  ch.  xii. 


THE    NATUKAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS. 


41 


relopes  ev^ery  capacity  Gratitude  has  no  doubt  done  mucli 
to  soften  and  sweeten  the  intercourse  of  life,  but  the  corre- 
Bponding  feeling  of  revenge  was  for  centuries  the  one  bulwark 
against  social  anarchy,  and  is  even  now  one  of  the  chief 
restraints  to  crime. ^  On  the  great  theatre  of  public  life, 
especially  in  periods  of  great  convulsions  when  passions  are 
fiercely  roused,  it  is  neither  the  man  of  delicate  scrupulosity 
and  sincere  impartiality,  nor  yet  the  single-minded  religious 
enthusiast,  incapable  of  dissimulation  or  procrastination,  who 
confers  most  benefit  upon  the  world.  It  is  much  rather  the 
astute  statesman  earnest  about  his  ends  but  unscrupulous 
about  his  means,  equally  free  from  the  trammels  of  conscience 
and  from  the  blindness  of  zeal,  who  governs  because  he  partly 
yields  to  the  passions  and  the  prejudices  of  his  time.  But 
however  much  some  modern  writers  may  idolize  the  heroes 
of  succass,  however  much  they  may  despise  and  ridicule  those 
far  nobler  men,  whose  wide  tolerance  and  scrupulous  honour 


'  M,  Dumont,  the  translator  of 
Bentham,  has  elaborated  in  a  rather 
famous  passage  the  utilitarian  no- 
tions about  vengeance.  '  Toute 
espece  de  satisfaction  entrainant 
une  peine  pour  le  delinquant  produit 
naturellement  un  plaisir  de  ven- 
geance pour  la  partie  lesee.  Co 
plaisir  est  un  gain.  II  rappelle  la 
parabole de  Samsm.  C'est  le  doux 
qui  sort  du  terrible.  C'est  le  miel 
recueilli  dans  la  gueule  du  Hon. 
Produit  sans  frais,  residtat  net 
d'une  operation  neeessaire  a  d'autres 
titres,  c'est  une  jouissance  a  cultiver 
eoTume  toute  autre ;  car  le  plaisir 
de  la  vengeance  consideree  ab- 
etraitement  n'est  comme  tout  autre 
plaisir  qu  un  bien  en  lui-meme.' — 
Fr incites  du  Cod-^  pencd,  2"^  partie, 
ch.  xvi.  According  to  a  very  acute 
living  writer  of  this  school,  'The 
criminal  law  stands  to  the  passion 


of  revenge  in  much  the  same  rela- 
tion as  marriage  to  the  sexual  appe- 
tite' (J.  F.  Stephen  On  the  Criminal 
Law  of  England,  p.  99).  Mr  Mill 
observes  that,  '  In  the  golden  rule 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  we  read  the 
complete  spirit  of  the  ethics  of  uti- 
lity {Utilitarianism,  -p.  2i).  It  is 
but  fair  to  give  a  specimen  of  the 
opposite  order  of  extravagance. 
'  So  well  convinced  was  Father 
Claver  of  the  eternal  happiness  of 
almost  all  whom  he  assisted.'  says 
this  saintly  missionary's  biogra- 
pher, 'that  speaking  once  of  some 
persons  who  had  delivered  a  crimi- 
nal into  the  hands  of  justice,  he 
said,  God  forgive  them ;  but  they 
have  secured  the  salvation  of  thia 
man  at  the  prohahle  risk  of  tlieir 
own! — Newman's  Anglican  Diffi- 
cidties,  p.  205. 


12  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

rendered  them  unfit  leaders  in  the  fray,  it  has  scarcely  ye  I 
been  contended  that  the  delicate  conscientiousness  which  in 
these  cases  impairs  utility  constitutes  vice.  If  utility  is  the 
sole  measure  of  virtue,  it  is  difficult  to  understand  how  we 
could  look  with  moral  disapprobation  on  any  class  who  pre- 
vent greater  evils  than  they  cause.  But  with  such  a  princi- 
ple we  might  find  strange  priestesses  at  the  utilitarian  shrine. 
*Aufer  meretrices  de  rebus  humanis/  said  St.  Augustine, 
*turbaveris  omnia  libidinibus.'^ 

Let  us  suppose  an  enquirer  who  intended  to  regulate  his 
life  consistently  by  the  utilitarian  principle ;  let  us  suppose 
him  to  have  overcome  the  first  great  difficulty  of  his  school, 
arising  from  the  apparent  divergence  of  his  own  interests  from 
his  duty,  to  have  convmced  himself  that  that  divergence  does 
not  exist,  and  to  have  accordingly  made  the  pursuit  of  duty  his 
single  object,  it  remains  to  consider  what  kind  of  course  he 
would  pursue.  He  is  informed  that  it  is  a  pure  illusion  to  sup- 
pose that  human  actions  have  any  other  end  or  rule  than  hap- 
piness, that  nothing  is  intrinsically  good  or  intrinsically  bad 
apart  from  its  consequences,  that  no  act  which  is  useful  can 
possibly  be  vicious,  and  that  the  utility  of  an  act  constitutes 
and  measures  its  value.  One  of  his  first  observations  will  be 
that  in  very  many  special  cases  acts  such  as  murder,  theft, 
or  falsehood,  which  the  world  calls  criminal,  and  which  in 
the  majority  of  instances  would  imdoubtedly  be  hurtful, 
appear  eminently  productive  of  good.  Why  then,  he  may 
ask,  should  they  not  in  these  cases  bo  performed  1  The 
answer  he  receives  is  that  they  would  not  really  be  usefiU, 
because  we  must  consider  the  remote  as  well  as  the  imme- 
diiito  consequences  of  actions,  and  although  in  particular 
instances  a  falsehood  or  even  a  murder  might  appear  bene- 
dcial,  it  is  one  of  the  most  important  interests  of  mankind 


'  De  Ord'mc,  ii.  4.    Thp  experi-     with  the  results  St.  Augustine  p/© 
ment  has  more  than  once  been  tried     dieted, 
at  Venice,  Pisa,   &c.,  and    always 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  43 

tliat  the  sanctity  of  life  and  property  should  be  preserved, 
and  that  a  high  standard  of  veracity  should  be  maintained. 
But  this  answer  is  obviously  insufficient.  It  is  necessary  to 
show  that  the  extent  to  which  a  single  act  of  what  the  world 
calls  crime  would  weaken  these  great  bulwarks  of  society  is 
such  as  to  counterbalarce  the  immediate  good  which  it  pro- 
duces. If  it  does  not,  the  balance  will  be  on  the  side  of 
happiness,  the  murder  or  theft  or  falsehood  will  be  useful, 
and  therefore,  on  utilitarian  principles,  will  be  virtuous. 
Now  even  in  the  case  of  public  acts,  the  eifect  of  the  example 
of  an  obscure  individual  is  usually  small,  but  if  the  act  be 
accomplished  in  perfect  secrecy,  the  evil  effects  resulting  from 
the  example  will  be  entirely  absent.  It  has  been  said  that 
it  would  be  dangerous  to  give  men  permission  to  pei^petrate 
what  men  call  crimes  in  secret.  This  may  be  a  very  good 
reason  why  the  utilitarian  should  not  proclaim  such  a  prin- 
ciple, but  it  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  act  upon  it.  If 
a  man  be  convinced  that  no  act  which  is  useful  can  possibly 
be  criminal,  if  it  be  in  his  power  by  perpetrating  what  is 
called  a  crime  to  obtain  an  end  of  great  immediate  utility, 
and  if  he  is  able  to  secure  such  absolute  secrecy  as  to  render 
it  perfectly  certain  that  his  act  cannot  become  an  example, 
and  cannot  in  consequence  exercise  any  influence  on  the 
general  standaid  of  morals,  it  appears  demonstrably  certain 
that  on  utilitarian  principles  he  would  be  justified  in  per- 
forming it.  If  what  we  call  virtue  be  only  virtuous  because 
it  is  useful,  it  can  only  be  virtuous  ivhen  it  is  useful.  The 
qviestion  of  the  morality  of  a  large  number  of  acts  must 
therefore  depend  upon  the  probability  of  their  detection,^ 


*  The  reader  will  here  observe  should  never  perform  an  act  which 
the  very  transparent  sophistry  of  would  not  be  conducive  to  human 
an  assertion  which  is  repeated  ad  happiness  if  it  were  universally 
nauseam  by  utilitarians.  They  performed,  or,  as  Mr.  Austin  ex- 
tell  us  that  a  regard  to  the  remote  presses  it,  that  'the  question  is  if 
consequences  of  our  actions  would  acts  of  this  class  were  generally 
lead  us  to  the  conclusion  that  we  done  or  generally  forborne  or  omit* 


44  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

and  a  little  adroit  hypocrisy  must  often,  not  meiely  in 
appearance  tut  in  reality,  convert  a  vice  into  a  virtue.  The 
only  way  by  which  it  has  been  attempted  with  any  plausi- 
bility to  evade  this  conclusion  has  been  by  asserting  that  the 
act  would  impair  the  disposition  of  the  agent,  or  in  other 
words  predispose  him  on  other  occasions  to  perform  acta 
which  are  generally  hurtful  to  society.  But  in  the  first 
place  a  single  act  has  no  such  effect  upon  disposition  as  to 
counteract  a  great  immediate  good,  especially  when,  as  wo 
have  supposed,  that  act  is  not  a  revolt  against  what  is  be- 
lieved to  be  right,  but  is  performed  under  the  full  belief  that  ii 
is  in  accordance  with  the  one  rational  rule  of  morals,  and  in 
the  next  place,  as  far  as  the  act  would  form  a  habit  it  would 
appear  to  be  the  habit  of  in  all  cases  regulating  actions  by  a 
precise  and  minute  calculation  of  theii'  utility,  wKich  is  the 
very  ideal  of  utilitarian  vii^tue. 

If  our  enquirer  happens  to  be  a  man  of  strong  imagina- 
tion and  of  solitary  habits,  it  is  very  probable  that  he  will 
be  accustomed  to  live  much  in  a  world  of  imagination,  a 
world  peopled  with  beings  that  are  to  him  as  real  as  those  o^ 


ted,  what  -would  be  the  probaLle  tutors,  or  aiFect  the  conduct  and 
•jffect  on  the  general  happiness  or  future  acts  of  others  It  may  no 
good?'  {Lecturea  oi  Jurispru-  doubt  be  convenient  and  useful  to 
dence,  xo\.\. '^.  ?2.)  Tlie  question  form  classifications  based  on  the 
is  nothing  of  the  kind.  If  I  am  general  tendency  of  different 
convinced  that  utility  alcne  consti-  courses  to  promote  or  diminish 
tutes  virtue,  and  if  I  am  meditating  happiness,  but  such  classification"! 
any  particular  act,  the  sole  ques-  cannot  alter  the  morality  of  parti- 
tion of  morality  must  be  whether  cular  acts.  It  is  quite  clear  that 
that  act  is  on  the  whole  useful,  no  act  which  produces  on  the 
produces  a  net  result  of  happiness,  whole  more  pleasure  than  pain  can 
To  determine  this  question  I  must  on  utilitarian  principles  be  vicious, 
consider  both  the  immediate  and  It  is,  I  think,  equally  clear  that  no 
tiie  remote  consequences  of  the  act ;  one  could  act  consistently  on  such 
but  the  latter  are  not  ascertained  a  principle  without  being  led  to 
by  asking  what  would  be  the  result  consequences  which  in  the  common 
if  every  one  did  as  I  do,  but  by  judgment  of  mankind  are  grossly 
asking  how  far,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  and  scandalously  immoral, 
my  act  is  likely  to  produce  imi- 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  45 

flesh,  with  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  temptations  and  its  sins. 
In  obedience  to  the  common  feelings  of  our  nature  he  may 
have  struggled  long  and  painfully  against  sins  of  the  imagina- 
tion, which  he  was  never  seriously  tempted  to  convert  into 
Bins  of  action.  But  his  new  philosophy  will  be  admirably 
fitted  to  console  his  raind.  If  remorse  be  absent  the  indul- 
gence of  the  most  -vicious  imagination  is  a  pleasure,  and  if 
this  indulgence  does  not  lead  to  action  it  is  a  clear  gain,  and 
therefore  to  be  applauded.  That  a  course  may  be  continually 
pursued  in  imagination  without  leading  to  corresponding 
actions  he  will  speedily  discover,  and  indeed  it  has  always 
been  one  of  the  chief  objections  brought  against  fiction  that 
the  constant  exercise  of  the  sympathies  in  favour  of  imagi- 
nary beings  is  found  positively  to  indispose  men  to  practical 
benevolence.^ 

Proceeding  farther  in  his  course,  our  moralist  will  soon 
find  reason  to  qualify  the  doctrine  of  remote  consequences, 
w^hich  plays  so  large  a  part  in  the  calculations  of  utili- 
t.arianism.  It  is  said  that  it  is  criminal  to  destroy  human 
beings,  even  when  the  crime  would  appear  productive  of 
great  utility,  for  every  instance  of  murder  weakens  the 
sanctity  of  life.  But  experience  shows  that  it  is  possible  for 
men  to  be  perfectly  indifferent  to  one  particular  section  of 
human  life,  without  this  indifference  extending  to  others. 
Thus  among  the  ancient  Greeks,  the  murder  or  exposition  of 
the  children  of  poor  parents  was  continually  practised  with 
the  most  absolute  callousness,  without  exercising  any  appre- 
ciable influence  upon  the  respect  for  adult  life.  In  the  same 
manner  what  may  be  termed  religious  unveracity,  or  the 
habit  of  propagating  what  are  deemed  useful  superstitions, 
with  the  consciousness  of  their  being  false,  or  at  least  sup- 
pressing or  misrepresenting  the  facts  that  might  invalidate 


*  There  are  some  very  good  re-  from  the  life  of  action  in  Mr 
marks  on  the  possibility  of  living  a  Bain's  Emotions  and  Will,  p.  246. 
life  of  imagination  wholly  distinct 


46  ■        HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

khem,  does  not  in  any  degree  imply  industrial  unveracity. 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  find  extreme  dishonesty  in 
speculation  coexisting  with  scrupulous  veracity  in  business, 
Tf  any  vice  might  be  expected  to  conform  strictly  to  the 
utilitarian  theory,  it  would  be  cruelty;  but  cruelty  to 
animals  may  exist  without  leading  to  cruelty  to  men,  and 
sven  where  spectacles  in  which  animal  sufiering  forms  a 
leading  element  exercise  an  injurious  influence  on  character, 
it  is  more  than  doubtful  whether  the  measure  of  human  un- 
happiness  they  may  ultimately  produce  is  at  all  equivalent 
to  the  passionate  enjoyment  they  immediately  afford. 

This  last  consideration,  however,  makes  it  necessary  to 
notice  a  new,  and  as  it  appears  to  me,  almost  grotesque 
development  of  the  utilitarian  theory.  The  duty  of  humanity 
to  animals,  though  for  a  long  period  too  much  neglected, 
may,  on  the  principles  of  the  intuitive  moralist,  be  easily 
explained  and  justified.  Our  circumstances  and  characters 
produce  in  us  many  and  various  affections  towards  all  with 
whom  we  come  in  contact,  and  our  consciences  pronounce 
these  affections  to  be  good  or  bad.  We  feel  that  humanity 
or  benevolence  is  a  good  affection,  and  also  that  it  is  due  in 
different  degrees  to  different  classes.  Thus  it  is  not  only 
natural  but  light  that  a  man  should  care  for  liis  own  family 
more  than  for  the  world  at  large,  and  tliis  obligation 
applies  not  only  to  parents  who  are  responsible  for  having 
brouofht  their  children  into  existence,  and  to  children  who 
owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  their  parents,  but  also  to  brothers 
who  have  no  such  special  tie.  So  too  we  feel  it  to  be  both 
unnatural  and  wrong  to  feel  no  stronger  interest  in  our  fellow- 
countrymen  than  in  other  men.  In  the  same  way  we  feel 
that  there  is  a  wide  interval  between  the  humanity  it  is 
both  natural  and  right  to  exhibit  towards  animals,  and  that 
which  is  due  to  our  own  species.  Strong  philanthropy  could 
hardly  coexist  with  cannibalism,  and  a  man  who  had  no  hesita- 
tion ui  destroying  h  iman  life  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  the  skinc 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  47 

of  the  victims,  or  of  freeing  himself  from  some  trifling  incon- 
venience, would  scarcely  be  eulogised  for  his  benevolence. 
Yet  a  man  may  be  regarded  as  very  humane  to  animals  who 
has  no  scruple  in  sacrificing  theii-  lives  for  his  food,  his 
pleasures,  or  his  convenience. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  last  century  an  energetic  agi  ta- 
tion  in  favour  of  humanity  to  animals  arose  in  England,  and 
the  utilitarian  moralists,  who  were  then  rising  into  influence, 
caught  the  spirit  of  theii-  time  and  made  very  creditable 
efforts  to  extend  it.*  It  is  manifest,  however,  that  a  theory 
which  recognLsed  no  other  end  in  vii"tue  than  the  promotion 
of  human  happiness,  could  supply  no  adequate  basis  for  the 
movement.  Some  of  the  recent  members  of  the  school  have 
accordingly  enlarged  their  theory,  maintaining  that  acts  are 
virtuous  when  they  produce  a  net  result  of  happiness, 
and  vicious  when  they  produce  a  net  result  of  sufiering,  alto- 
gether iiTespective  of  the  question  whether  this  enjoyment  or 
sufiering  is  of  men  or  animals.  In  other  words,  they  i)lace 
the  duty  of  man  to  animals  on  exactly  the  same  basis  as  the 
duty  of  man  to  his  fellow-men,  maintaining  that  no  suffering 
can  be  rightly  infiicted  on  brutes,  wliich  does  not  produce  a 
larger  amount  of  happiness  to  man.^ 

The  first  reflection  suggested  by  this  theory  is,  that  it 

*  Bentham  especially  recurs  to  deprive  them  [animals]  of  li'^e,  and 
this  subject  frequently.  See  Sir  J.  this  is  justifiable — their  pains  do 
Bowring's  edition  of  his  works  not  equal  our  enjoyments.  There 
(Edinburgh,  1843),  vol.  i.  pp.  142,  is  a  balance  of  good,' — Bentham's 
143,  o62  ;  vol.  x.  pp.  549-coO.  Deontology,  vol.  i.  p.  14.     Mr.  Mill 

*  'Granted  that  any  practice  accordingly  defines  the  principle  of 
causes  more  pain  to  animals  than  utility,  without  any  special  refer- 
it  gives  pleasure  to  man  ;  is  that  ence  to  man.  '  The  creed  which 
practice  moral  or  immoral  ?  And  accepts  as  the  fonndation  of  morals, 
if  exactly  in  proportion  as  human  utility  or  the  great  happiness  prin- 
beings  raise  their  heads  out  of  the  ciple,  holds  that  actions  are  right 
slough  of  selfishness  they  do  not  in  proportion  as  they  tend  to  pro- 
with  one  voice  answer  "  immoral,"  mote  happir.ess,  wrong  as  they  tend 
let  the  morality  of  the  principle  of  to  produce  the  reverse  of  happi 
utility  be  for  ever  condemned.' —  ness.' — Utilitarianism,  ^^ .  ^ -\b. 
Mill's  D/'sfiert.  vol.  ii.  p.  48o.    'We 


48  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

appears  difficult  to  understand  how,  on  tne  principles  of  the 
mductive  school,  it  could  be  arrived  at.  Benevolence,  as  we 
have  seen,  according  to  these  writers  begins  in  interest.  We 
first  of  all  do  good  to  men,  because  it  is  for  our  advantage, 
though  the  force  of  the  habit  may  at  last  act  irrespectii  e  of 
interest.  But  in  the  case  of  animals  which  cannot  resent  bar- 
barity, this  foundation  of  self-iuterest  does  not  for  the  most 
part^  exist.  Probably,  however,  an  association  of  ideas  might 
help  to  solve  the  difficulty,  and  the  habit  of  benevolence 
generated  originally  from  the  social  relations  of  men  might 
at  last  be  extended  to  the  animal  world ;  but  that  it  should 
be  so  to  the  extent  of  placing  the  duty  to  animals  on  the 
same  basis  as  the  duty  to  men,  I  do  not  anticipate,  or  (at  the 
risk  of  being  accused  of  great  inhumanity),  I  must  add, 
desii-e.  I  cannot  look  forwaid  to  a  time  when  no  one  will 
wear  any  article  of  dress  formed  out  of  the  skin  of  an 
animal,  or  feed  upon  animal  flesh,  till  he  has  ascertained  that 
the  pleasure  he  derives  from  doing  so,  exceeds  the  pain  in- 
flicted upon  the  animal,  as  well  as  the  pleasure  of  which  by 
abridging  its  life  he  has  deprived  it.^     And  supposing  that 


*  The  exception  of  course  being  whohas  some  amiable  and  beautiful 
domestic  animals,  "which  may  be  remarks  on  the  duty  of  kindness  to 
injured  by  ill  treatment,  but  even  animals,  ^v'ithout  absolutely  con- 
this  exception  is  a  very  partial  one.  demning,  speaks  wii  h  much  aver- 
No  selfish  reason  could  prevent  any  sion  of  the  custom  of  eating  'our 
amount  of  cruelty  to  animals  that  brothers  and  sisters,'  the  animals, 
were  about  to  be  killed,  and  even  {On  Man,  vol.  ii.  pp.  222-223.) 
in  the  case  of  previous  ill-usage  Paley,  oljserving  that  it  is  quite 
the  calculations  of  selfishness  will  possible  fur  men  to  live  without 
depend  greatly  upon  the  price  of  tiesh-diet,  concludes  that  the  only 
the  animal.  I  have  been  told  that  safl&cient  justification  for  eating 
on  s(jme  parts  of  the  continent  dili-  meat  is  an  express  divine  revelation 
gence  horses  are  systematically  in  the  Book  of  Genesis.  {Moral 
under-fe.l,  and  worked  to  a  speedy  Philos.  bookii.  ch.  11.)  Some  rea- 
death,  their  cheapness  rendering  soni^rs  evade  the  main  issue  by 
such  a  course  the  most  economical,  contending  that  they  kill  animals 

2  Bei.tham,  as  we  have  seen,  is  because  they  would  otherwise  over- 
of  opinic  n  that  the  gastronomic  run  the  earth ;  but  this,  as  Wind- 
pleasure  woulil  produce  the  requi-  ham  said,  '  is  an  indifferent  reason 
site  excess  of  enjoyment.    Hartley,  for  killing  fish.' 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  49 

with  such  a  calculation  before  him,  the  utilitarian  should 
continue  to  feed  on  the  flesh  of  animals,  his  principle  might 
carry  him  to  further  conclusions,  from  which  I  confess  I 
should  recoil.  If,  when  Swift  was  writing  his  tamous  essay 
in  favour  of  employing  for  food  the  redundant  babies  of  a 
half-starving  population,  he  had  been  informed  that,  according 
to  the  more  advanced  moralists,  to  eat  a  child,  and  to  eat  a 
slieep,  rest  upon  exactly  the  same  gi-ound  ;  that  in  the  one 
case  as  in  the  other,  the  single  question  for  the  moralist  is, 
whether  the  repast  on  the  whole  produces  more  pleasure  than 
pain,  it  must  be  owned  that  the  di  covery  would  have  greatly 
facilitated  his  task. 

The  considerations  I  have  adduced  will,  I  think,  be  suffi- 
cient to  show  that  the  utilitarian  principle  if  pushed  to  its 
full  logical  consequences  would  be  by  no  means  as  accordant 
■with  ordinary  moral  notions  as  is  sometimes  alleged  ]  that 
it  would,  on  the  contrary,  lead  to  conclusions  utterly  and 
outrageously  repugnant  to  the  moral  feelings  it  is  intended  to 
explain.  I  will  conclude  this  part  of  my  argument  by  very 
briefly  adverting  to  two  great  fields  in  which,  as  I  believe,  it 
would  prove  especially  revolutionary. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  field  of  chastity.  It  will  be 
necessary  for  me  in  the  course  of  the  present  work  to  dwell 
at  greater  length  than  I  should  desire  upon  questions  con- 
nected with  this  vii-tue.  At  present,  I  wiU  merely  ask  the 
reader  to  conceive  a  mind  from  which  all  notion  of  the  in- 
trinsic excellence  or  nobility  of  purity  was  banished,  and  to 
supj)Ose  such  a  miiid  comparing,  by  a  utilitarian  standard,  a 
pei'iod  in  which  sensuality  was  almost  unbridled,  such  as  the 
age  of  Athenian  glory  or  the  English  restoration,  with  a 
period  of  austei-e  vii'tue.  The  question  v/hich  of  these  socie- 
ties WHS  morally  the  best  would  thus  resolve  itself  solely 
into  the  question  in  which  there  was  produced  thr;  greatest 
amount  of  enjoyment  and  the  smallest  amount  of  sufliering. 
The  pleasures  of  domestic  life,  the  pleasures  resulting  ftom  a 


50 


niSTOKY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


f'-eer  social  intercourse,^  tlie  different  degrees  of  siiffeiiag 
inflicted  on  those  who  violated  the  law  of  chastity,  the 
ulterior  consequences  of  each  mode  of  life  upon  well-being 
and  upon  population,  would  be  the  chief  elements  of  the 
comparison.  Can  any  one  believe  that  the  balance  of  enjoy- 
ment would  be  so  unquestionably  and  so  largely  on  the  side 
of  the  more  austere  society  as  to  justify  the  degree  of  supe- 
rioiity  which  is  assigned  to  it  1  ^ 

The  second  sphere  is  that  of  specidative  truth.  No  class 
of  men  hav^e  more  highly  valued  an  unflinching  hostility  tc 
superstition  than  utilitarians.  Yet  it  is  more  than  doubtful 
whether  upon  theu'  principles  it  can  be  justified.  Many 
superstitions  do  undoubtedly  answer  to  the  Greek  conception 


'  In  commenting  upon  the 
French  licentiousness  of  the  eight- 
eenth century,  Hume  saj's,  in  a 
passage  which  has  excited  a  great 
deal  of  animadversion  : — '  Our 
neighbours,  it  seems,  have  resolved 
to  sacrifice  some  of  the  domestic  to 
the  social  pleasures  ;  and  to  prefer 
ease,  freedom,  and  an  open  com- 
merce, to  strict  fideliry  and  con- 
stancy. These  ends  are  both  good, 
and  are  somewhat  difficult  to  re- 
concile;  nor  must  we  be  surprised 
if  the  customs  of  nations  incline  too 
much  sometimes  to  the  one  side, 
and  sometimes  to  the  other.' — 
Dialogue. 

2  There  are  few  things  more 
pitiable  than  the  blunders  into 
which  writers  have  fallen  when 
trying  to  base  the  plain  nrtue  of 
chastity  on  utilitarian  calculations. 
Thus  since  the  -WTitingsof  Malthus 
it  h;is  been  generally  recognised 
that  one  of  the  very  first  conditions 
of  all  material  prosperity  is  to 
check  early  marriages,  to  restrain 
the  tendency  of  population  to  mul- 
tiply m  )re  rapidly  than  the  means 


of  subsistence.  Knowing  this, 
what  can  be  more  deplor.able  than 
to  find  moralists  making  such  ar 
guments  as  these  the  very  foun- 
dation of  morals? — 'The  first  and 
great  mischief,  and  by  consequence 
the  guilt,  of  promiscuous  concubi- 
nage consists  in  its  tendency  to 
diminish  marriages.'  (Faleys 
Moral  PkUowphi/,  book  iii.  part 
iii.  ch.  ii.)  'That  is  always  the 
most  happy  condition  of  a  nation, 
and  that  nation  is  most  accurately 
obpyJ!ig  the  laws  of  our  consti- 
tution, in  which  the  number  of  the 
human  race  is  most  rapidly  in- 
creasing. Now  it  is  certain  that 
under  the  law  of  chastity,  that  is, 
when  individuals  are  exclusively 
united  to  each  other,  tlie  increajje 
of  population  will  be  more  rapid 
than  under  any  other  circum- 
stances.' (Wayland's  Elements  oj 
Moral  Scknce,  p.  298,  11th  ed., 
Boston,  1839.J  I  am  sorry  to 
bring  such  subjects  before  the 
reader,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
write  a  history  of  morals  with(..ut 
doing  so. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  51 

of  slavish  '  fear  of  the  gods,  and  have  been  productive  ol 
mspeakable  misery  to  mankind,  but  there  are  very  laany 
others  of  a  different  tendency.  Superstitions  appeal  to  our 
liopes  as  well  as  to  our  fears.  They  often  meet  and  gi'atify 
the  inmost  longings  of  the  heart.  They  offer  certainties 
when  reason  can  only  afford  possibilities  or  probabiKties. 
They  supj^ly  conceptions  on  wliich  the  imagination  loves 
to  dwell.  They  sometimes  even  impart  a  new  sanction 
to  moral  truths.  Creating  wants  wliich  they  alone  can 
satisfy,  and  fears  which  they  alone  can  quell,  they  often 
become  essential  elements  of  happiness,  and  their  consoling 
efficacy  is  most  felt  in  the  languid  or  troubled  hours  when 
it  is  most  needed.  We  owe  more  to  our  illusions  than  to  \^ 
our  knowledge.  The  imagination,  which  is  altogether  con- 
structive, probably  contributes  more  to  our  happiness  than 
the  reason,  which  in  the  t^phere  of  speculation  is  mainly 
critical  and  destractive.  The  rude  charm  which  in  the  houi* 
of  danger  or  distress  the  savage  clasps  so  confidently  to  his 
breast,  the  sacred  picture  which  is  believed  to  shed  a  hal- 
lowing and  protecting  influence  over  the  poor  man's  cottage, 
can  bestow  a  more  real  consolation  in  the  darkest  hour  of 
human  suffering  than  can  be  afforded  by  the  grandest  theories 
of  philosophy.  The  first  desire  of  the  heart  is  to  find  some- 
thing on  which  to  lean.  Happiness  is  a  condition  of  feeling, 
not  a  condition  of  circumstances,  and  to  common  minds  one 
of  its  first  essentials  is  the  exclusion  of  painful  and  harassing 
doubt.  A  system  of  belief  may  be  false,  superstitious,  and 
reactionary,  and  may  yet  be  conducive  to  human  happiness  if 
it  furnishes  great  multitudes  of  men  with  what  they  believe 
to  be  a  key  to  the  universe,  if  it  consoles  them  in  those 
seasons  of  agonizing  bereavement  when  the  consolations  of  en- 
lightened reason  are  but  empty  words,  if  it  supports  their  feeble 
and  tottering  minds  in  the  gloomy  hours  of  sickness  and  of 
approaching  death.  A  credulous  and  superstitious  nature 
may  be  degraded,  but  m  the  many  cases  where  superstition 


52  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAX    MORALS. 

does  not  assume  a  persecuting  or  appalling  form  it  is  not 
unhappy,  and  degradation,  apart  from  unhappiness,  can  have 
no  place  in  utilitarian  ethics.  No  error  can  be  more  grave 
than  to  imagine  that  when  a  critical  spiiit  is  abroad  the 
pleasant  beliefs  will  all  remain,  and  the  painful  ones  alone 
will  perish.  To  introduce  into  the  mind  the  consciousness 
of  ignorance  and  the  j)angs  of  doubt  is  to  inflict  or  endure 
much  suffering,  which  may  even  survive  the  period  of  tran- 
sition. '  Whj  is  it,'  said  Luther's  wife,  looking  sadly  back 
apon  the  sensuous  ci-eed  which  she  had  left,  '  that  in  our  old 
faith  we  prayed  so  often  and  so  warmly,  and  that  our 
prayers  are  now  so  few  and  so  cold  V  ^  It  is  related  of  an 
old  monk  named  Serapion,  who  had  embraced  the  heresy  of 
tiie  anthropomorphites,  that  he  was  convinced  by  a  brother 
monk  of  the  folly  of  attributing  to  the  Almighty  a  human 
form.  He  bowed  his  reason  humbly  to  the  Catholic  creed  ; 
but  when  he  knelt  down  to  pray,  the  image  which  his  imagi- 
nation had  conceived,  and  on  which  for  so  many  years  liis 
affections  had  been  concentrated,  had  disappeared,  and  the 
old  man  burst  into  tears,  exclaiming,  '  You  have  deprived  me 
of  my  God.'  ^ 

These  are  indeed  facts  which  must  be  deeply  painful  to 
all  who  are  concerned  with  the  history  of  opinion.  The 
possibility  of  often  adding  to  the  happiness  of  men  by  dif- 
fusing abroad,  or  at  least  sustaining  pleasing  falsehoods,  and 
the  suffering  that  must  commonly  result  from  tljeir  dissolu- 
tion, can  hardly  reasonably  be  denied.  There  is  one,  and 
but  one,  adequate  reason  that  can  always  justify  men  in 
critically  re^dewing  what  they  have  been  taught.  It  is,  the 
conviction  that  opinions  should  not  be  regarded  as  mere 
mental  lirsuries,  that  truth  should  be  deemed  an  end  distinct 
fiom  and  superior  to  utility,  and  that  it  is  a  moral  duty  to 


'  See  Liither s  Tahk  Talk.  a  rilisi.ecclesiastique,  tcmex.-p.  57 

*  Tillemont,  Mem.  pour  servir 


THE    NATURAL    HISTOHY    OF    MORALS.  53 

pursue  it,  whether  it  leads  to  pleasure  or  whether  it  leads 
to  pain.  Among  the  many  wise  sayings  which  antiquity 
ascribed  to  Pythagoras,  few  are  more  remarkaLle  than  his 
division  of  vii-tue  into  two  distinct  branches — to  be  trutliful 
and  to  do  good.^ 

Of  the  sanctions  which,  according  to  the  utilitarians,  con- 
stitute the  sole  motives  to  virtue,  there  is  one,  as  I  have  said, 
imexceptionably  adequate.  Those  who  adopt  the  religious 
sanction,  can  always  appeal  to  a  balance  of  interest  in  favour 
of  virtue;  but  as  the  great  majority  of  modern  utilitarians 
confidently  sever  their  theory  from  all  theological  considera- 
tions, I  will  dismiss  this  sanction  with  two  or  three  remarks. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  obvious  that  those  who  regard  the 
arbitrary  will  of  the  Deity  as  the  sole  rule  of  morals,  render 
it  perfectly  idle  to  represent  the  Divine  attributes  as  deserving 
of  our  admiration.  To  speak  of  the  goodness  of  God,  either 
implies  that  there  is  such  a  quality  as  goodness,  to  which  the 
Divine  acts  conform,  or  it  is  an  unmeaning  tautology.  Why 
should  we  extol,  or  how  can  we  admire,  the  perfect  goodness 
of  a  Being  whose  will  and  acts  constitute  the  sole  standard 
or  definition  of  perfection  1  ^  The  theory  which  teaches  that 
the  arbitrary  will  of  the  Deity  is  the  one  rule  of  morals,  and 
the  anticipation  of  future  rewards  and  punishments  the  one 
reason  for  conforming  to  it,  consists  of  two  parts.  The  first 
annihilates  the  goodness  of  God  ;  the  second,  the  virtue  of  man. 


1  To  T6  a\T}0eueij/  koX  tJ)  repress  or  conceal  your  conviction 
ivipyiT^tv.  (^lian,  Var.  Hist.xW.  until  you  have  discovered  positive 
69.)  Longinus  in  like  manner  affirmations  or  explanations  as  un- 
divides  virtue  into  euepyeaia  Kal  qualified  and  consolatory  as  those 
a\r]deia.  (De  Sublini.  §  L)  The  you  have  destroyed, 
opposite  view  in  England  is  con-  2  geg  this  powerfully  stated  by 
tinually  expressed  in  the  saying,  Shaftesbury.  {Inquiry  concerning 
'  You  should  never  pull  down  an  Virtm,  book  i.  part  iii  )  The  same 
opinion  until  you  haA^e  something  objection  applies  to  Dr.  Hansel's 
to  put  in  its  place,'  which  can  only  modification  of  the  theological  doc- 
mean,  if  you  are  convinced  that  trine — viz.  that  the  origin  of  morals 
some  religious  or  other  hypothesis  is  not  the  will  but  the  nature  o< 
is  false,  you  are  morally  bound  to  God. 


54  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

Another  and  equally  obvious  remark  is,  that  while  these 
theologians  represent  the  hope  of  future  rewards,  and  the 
fear  of  future  punishments,  as  the  only  reason  for  doing  right, 
one  of  onr  strongest  reasons  for  believing  in  the  existence  of 
these  rewards  and  punishments,  is  our  deep-seated  feeling  of 
merit  and  demerit.  That  the  present  disposition  of  affairs  is 
in  many  respects  unjust,  that  suffering  often  attends  a  course 
which  deserves  reward,  and  happiness  a  course  which  deserves 
I)unishment,  leads  men  to  infer  a  future  state  of  retribution. 
Take  away  the  consciousness  of  desert,  and  the  inference 
would  no  longer  be  made. 

A  third  remark,  which  I  believe  to  be  equally  true,  but 
which  may  not  be  acquiesced  in  with  equal  readiness,  is  that 
without  the  concurrence  of  a  moral  faculty,  it  is  wholly  im- 
possible to  prove  from  nature  that  supreme  goodness  of  the 
Creator,  which  utilitarian  theologians  assume.  We  speak  of 
the  benevolence  shown  in  the  joy  of  the  insect  glittering  in 
the  sunbeam,  in  the  protecting  instincts  so  liberally  bestowed 
among  the  animal  world,  in  the  kindness  of  the  parent  to  its 
young,  in  the  happiness  of  little  children,  in  the  beauty  and 
the  bounty  of  nature,  but  is  there  not  another  side  to  the 
picture  ]  The  hideous  disease,  the  countless  forms  of  rapine 
and  of  suffering,  the  entozoa  that  live  within  the  bodies,  and 
feed  upon  the  anguish  of  sentient  beings,  the  ferocious  instinct 
of  the  cat,  that  prolongs  with  delight  the  agonies  of  its  victim, 
all  the  multitudinous  forms  of  misery  that  are  manifested 
among  the  innocent  portion  of  creation,  are  not  these  also 
the  works  of  nature?  We  speak  of  the  Divine  veracity. 
What  is  the  whole  history  of  the  intellectual  progi-ess  of  the 
world  but  one  long  struggle  of  the  intellect  of  man  to  eman- 
cipate itself  from  the  deceptions  of  nature  1  Every  object 
that  meets  the  eye  of  the  savage  awakens  his  curiosity  only 
to  lure  him  into  some  deadly  error.  The  sun  that  seems  a 
diminutive  light  revolving  around  his  world  ;  the  moon  and 
the  stars  that  appear  formed  only  to  light  his  path  ;  the  strange 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  55 

{"antastic  diseases  that  suggest  irresistibly  the  notion  of  present 
daemons ;  the  terrific  phenomena  of  nature  which  appear  the 
results,  not  of  blind  forces,  but  of  isolated  spiritual  agencies — 
all  these  things  fatally,  inevitably,  invincibly  impel  liim  into 
superstition.  Through  long  centuries  the  superstitions  thus 
generated  have  deluged  the  world  with  blood.  Millions  of 
prayers  have  been  vainly  breathed  to  what  we  now  know 
were  inexorable  laws  of  nature.  Only  after  ages  of  toil  did 
the  mind  of  man  emancipate  itself  from  those  deadly  errors 
to  which  by  the  deceptive  appearances  of  nature  the  long 
infancy  of  humanity  is  universally  doomed. 

And  in  the  laws  of  wealth  how  different  are  the  appearances 
from  the  realities  of  things !  Who  can  estimate  the  wars 
that  have  been  kindled,  the  bitterness  and  the  wretchedness 
that  have  been  caused,  by  errors  relating  to  the  apparent 
antagonism  of  the  interests  of  nations  which  were  so  natural 
that  for  centuries  they  entangled  the  very  strongest  intellects, 
and  it  was  scarcely  till  our  own  day  that  a  tardy  science 
came  to  dispel  them  1 

What  shall  we  say  to  these  things  ?  If  induction  alone 
were  our  guide,  if  w^e  possessed  absolutely  no  knowledge  of 
some  things  being  in  their  own  nature  good,  and  others  in 
their  own  nature  evU,  how  could  we  rise  from  this  spectacle 
of  nature  to  the  conception  of  an  all-perfect  Author  1  Even 
if  we  could  discover  a  predominance  of  benevolence  in  the 
creation,  we  should  still  regard  the  mingled  attributes  of 
nature  as  a  reflex  of  the  mingled  attributes  of  its  Contriver. 
Our  knowledge  of  the  Supreme  Excellence,  our  best  evidence 
even  of  the  existence  of  the  Creator,  is  derived  not  from  the 
material  universe  but  from  our  own  moral  nature.^     It  i" 


*  'The  one  great  and  binding  faculty  is  our  one  reason  for  main- 
ground  of  the  belief  of  Grod  and  a  taining  the  supreme  benevolence  of 
hereafter  is  the  law  of  conscience.'  the  Deity  was  a  favourite  positirm 
— Coleridge,  Notes  Theological  and  of  Kant. 
Political,  p.  367.     That  our  moral 


56  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

not  of  reason  but  of  faith.  In  other  words  it  springs  from 
that  instinctive  or  moral  natiu-c  wnich  is  as  truly  a  part  of 
our  being  as  is  our  reason,  which  teaches  us  what  reason 
could  never  teach,  the  supreme  and  transcendent  excellence 
of  moral  good,  which  rising  dissatisfied  above  this  world  of 
sense,  proves  itself  by  the  very  intensity  of  its  aspiration  to 
be  adapted  for  another  sphere,  and  which  constitutes  at  once 
the  evidence  of  a  Divine  element  within  us,  and  the  augury 
of  the  future  that  is  before  us.* 

These  things  belong  rather  to  the  sphere  of  feeling  than 
of  reasoning.  Those  who  are  most  deeply  persuaded  of  their 
truth,  will  probably  feel  that  they  aie  unable  by  argument  to 
exiDress  adequately  the  intensity  of  their  conviction,  but  they 
may  point  to  the  recorded  experience  of  the  best  and  gi'eatest 
men  in  all  ages,  to  the  incapacity  of  terrestrial  things  to  sa- 
tisfy our  nature,  to  the  manifest  tendency,  both  in  individuals 
and  nations,  of  a  pure  and  heroic  life  to  kindle,  and  of  a 
selfish  and  corrupt  life  to  cloud,  these  aspirations,  to  the  his- 
torical fact  that  no  philosophy  and  no  scepticism  have  been 
able  permanently  to  repress  them.  The  lines  of  our  moral 
nature  tend  upwards.  In  it  we  have  the  common  root  of 
religion  and  of  ethics,  for  the  same  consciousness  that  tells 
us  that,  even  when  it  is  in  fact  the  weakest  element  of  our 
constitution,  it  is  by  right  supreme,  commanding  and  autho- 
ritative, teaches  us  also  that  it  is  Divine.  AU  the  nobler 
religions  that  have  governed  mankind,  have  done  so  by 
vii'tue  of  the  affinity  of  their  teaching  with  this  nature,  by 
speaking,  as  common  religious  language  correctly  describes 
it,  '  to  the  heart,'  by  appealing  not  to  self-interest,  but  to 
that  Divine  element  of  self-sacrifice  which  is  latent  in  every 
soul. 2     The  reality  of  this  moral  nature  is  the  one  great 


•  'Nescio  qiomodo  inhseret  in  mis  et  exsistit  maxime  et  apparet 

mentibiis quasi sseculorumquoddam  facillime.' — Cic.  Tusf:.  Disp  i.  14. 

augiirium    futurorum ;     idque    in  '^ 'It  is  a  calnmnj  to  say  that 

m.iximis  ingoniisaltissiniisque  ani-  men  are  roused  to  heroic  actions 


THE    NATURAL   HISTOJIY    OF    MORALS.  57 

question  of  natural  tlieology,  for  it  involves  that  connection 
between  our  own  and  a  higher  nature,  without  which  the 
existence  of  a  First  Cause  were  a  mere  question  of  archaeo- 
logy, and  religion  but  an  exercise  of  the  imagination. 

I  return  gladly  to  the  secular  sanctions  of  utilitarianism. 
The  majoiity  of  its  disciples  assure  us  that  tliese  are  sulBcicnt 
to  establish  their  theory,  or  m  other  words,  that  our  duty 
coincides  so  strictly  with  our  interest  when  rightly  under- 
stood, that  a  perfectly  prudent  would  nec«!ssarily  become  a 
perfectly  vii'tuous  ma.n.'  Bodily  vice  they  tell  us  ultimately 
brings  bodily  weakness  and  suffering.  Extravagance  is 
follow^ed  by  i-uin ;  unbridled  passions  by  the  loss  of  domestic 
peace  ;  disregard  for  the  interests  of  others  by  social  or  legal 
penalties ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  the  most  moral  is  also 
the  most  tranquil  disposition ;  benevolence  is  one  of  the 
truest  of  our  pleasures,  and  virtue  may  become  by  habit,  an 
essential  of  enjoyment.  As  the  shopkeeper  who  has  made 
liis  fortune,  still  sometimes  continues  at  the  counter,  because 
the  daily  routine  has  become  necessaiy  to  his  happiness,  so 
the  '  moral  hero '  may  continue  to  practise  that  virtue  which 
was  at  fii-st  the  mere  instrument  of  his  pleasures,  as  being  in 
itself  more  precious  than  all  besides. ^ 

by  ease,  hope  of  pleasure,  recom-  to  be  seduced  by  ease.     Difficulty, 

pense — sug:a,r-plums  of  any  kind  in  abnegation,  martyrdom,  death,  are 

this  world   or  the  next.      In  the  the  allurements  that   act   on   the 

meanest   mortal    there  lies  some-  heart  of  man.     Kindle   the  inner 

thing  nobler.     The  poor  swearing  genial  life  of  him.  you  have  a  flame 

soldier   hired   to  be  shot  has  his  that  burns  up  all  lower  considera- 

"  honour   of  a   soldier,"   different  tions.' — Carlyle's  Hero-worskij),  p. 

from   drill,  regulations,    and    the  237  (ed.  1858). 

shilling  a  day.     It  is  not  to  taste  '  '  Claniat  Epicurus,  is  qnem  vos 

sweet  thii'gs,  but  to  do  noble  and  nimis    voluptatibiis    esse   deditum 

true  things,  and  vindicate  himself  dicitis,  non  posse  jucunde  vivi  nisi 

under  God's  he.aven  as  a  God-made  sapienter.  honeste,  justeqne  vivatur, 

man,  that  the  poorest  son  of  Adam  nee    sapienter,  hoiieste,  juste  nisi 

iimly  longs.     Show  him  the  way  jucunde.' — Cicero,  Z>^  Fin.  i.  18. 

of  doing   that,   the    dullest    day-  ^  <  jhe  ^nrtues  to  be  complete 

drudge  kindles  into  a  hero.     They  must  have  fixed  their  residence  iu 

wrong  man  greatly  who  say  he  is  the   heart   and    become   appetites 
6 


58  niSTOUY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

This  theory  of  the  perfect  comcidence  of  virtue  and  m 
fcerest  rightly  understood,  which  has  always  been  a  common- 
place of  moralists,  and  has  been  advocated  by  many  who 
were  far  from  wishing  to  resolve  vii'tue  into  prudence,  con- 
ta'ns  no  doubt  a  certain  amount  of  tnith,  but  only  of  the 
ijiost  general  kind.  It  does  not  apply  to  nations  as  wholes, 
for  although  luxurious  and  effeminate  vices  do  undoubtedly 
corrode  and  enervate  national  character,  the  histories  of 
ancient  Home  and  of  not  a  few  modern  monarchies  abund- 
antly prove  that  a  career  of  consistent  rapacity,  ambition, 
selfishness,  and  fraud  may  be  eminently  conducix  e  to  national 
prosperity.'  It  does  not  apply  to  imperfectly  organised 
societies,  where  the  restraints  of  public  opinion  are  unfclt 
and  where  force  is  the  one  measure  of  right.  It  dot}s  not 
apply  except  in  a  very  partial  degree  even  to  the  most  civi- 
lised of  mankind.  It  is,  indeed,  easy  to  show  that  in  a 
polished  community  a  certain  low  standard  of  virtue  is  essen- 
tial to  prosperity,  to  paint  the  evils  of  unrestrained  passions, 
and  to  prove  that  it  is  better  to  o])ey  than  to  violate  the 
laws  of  society.  But  if  turning  from  the  criminal  or  the 
drunkard  we  were  to  compare  the  man  who  simply  falls  in 
with  or  slightly  surpasses  the  average  morals  of  those  a.bout 


impellingtoacticnsw'thout  further  ■when  they  can  yield  him  no  further 

thought  than   the  gratification  of  advantage?' — Tucker's    Li.Jit     of 

them;  ro  that  after  their  expedi-  Nature,  vol.  i.  p.   269.     Mr.  J.  S. 

ence  ceases  they  still   continue  to  Mill  in  his    UtUitaridnism  dwells 

operate   by   the  desire  they  raise,  much    on    thf^   heroism    which   he 

....  I  knew  a  mercer  who  having  thinks  this   view   of  morals   may 

gotten  a   competency   of  fortune,  produce. 

thought  to  retire  and  enjoy  him-  '  See  Lactantius,  List.  Div.  vi. 

self  in  quiet ;  but  finding  he  could  9.     Montesquieu,  in  his  Lecadenco 

not  be  easy  without  business  was  dc  P Empire  romain,  has  shown  in 

forced  to  return  to  the  shop  and  d.-tnii    the   manner   in  whicli   the 

assist  his  former  partners  gratis,  in  crimes  of  Roman   politicians  con- 

the  nature  of  a  journeyman.     Why  '.ributed   to  the  greatness  of  their 

then  should  it  be  tnought  strange  nation.     Modern  history  furnishes 

that   a   man    long   ir.ured   to   the  only  too  many  illustrations  of  the 

practice   of  moral    duties    should  same  truth, 
persevex-e  in    them   zwt  of  liking, 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS,  59 

h-im,  and  indulges  in  a  little  vice  which  is  neither  injurious 
to  his  own  health  nor  to  his  reputation,  with  the  man  who 
earnestly  and  painfully  adopts  a  much  higher  standai'd  than 
that  of  his  time  or  of  his  class,  we  should  be  di'iven  to  another 
conclusion.  Honesty  it  is  said  is  the  best  policy — a  fact, 
however,  which  depends  very  much  upon  the  condition  of 
the  police  force — but  hei'oic  virtue  must  rest  upon  a  difierent 
basis.  If  happiness  in  any  of  its  forms  be  the  supreme  object 
of  life,  moderation  is  the  most  emphatic  counsel  of  oui*  being, 
but  moderation  is  as  opposed  to  heroism  as  to  vice.  There 
is  no  form  of  intellectual  or  moral  excellence  which  has  not 
a  general  tendency  to  produce  happiness  if  cultivated  in 
moderation.  There  are  very  few  w^hich  if  cultivated  to  great 
perfection  have  not  a  tendency  directly  the  reverse.  Thus  a 
mind  that  is  sulficicntly  enlarged  to  range  abroad  amid  the 
pleasures  of  intellect  has  no  doubt  secured  a  fund  of  inex- 
haustible enjoyment;  but  he  who  inferred  from  this  that  the 
highest  intellectual  eminence  was  the  condition  most  favour- 
able to  happiness  would  be  lamentably  deceived.  The  dis- 
eased nervous  sensibility  that  accompanies  intense  mental 
exertion,  the  weary,  wasting  sense  of  ignorance  and  vanity, 
che  disenchantment  and  disintegi-ation  that  commonly  follow 
a  profound  research,  have  filled  literature  with  mournful 
echoes  of  the  words  of  the  royal  sage, '  In  much  wisdom  is 
much  grief,  and  he  that  increaseth  knowledge  increaseth 
sorrow.'  The  lives  of  men  of  genius  have  been  for  the 
most  part  a  conscious  and  deliberate  realisation  of  the 
ancient  myth — the  tree  of  knowledge  and  the  tree  of  life 
stood  side  by  side,  and  they  chose  the  tree  of  knowledge 
rather  than  the  tree  of  life. 

Nor  is  it  otherwise  in  the  realm  of  morals.^     The  virtue 
which  is  most  conducive  to  happiness  is  plainly  that  which 


^  '  That  quick  sensibility  which  pungency  of  pains  and  vexations.'— r 
^js  the  gi'oundwork  of  all  advances  Tucker's  Light  of  Nature,  ii.  1 Q 
towards   perfection    increases   the     §  4. 


RO  niSTOUY    OF    EUROrEAX    MORALS. 

can  be  realised  without  much  suffering,  and  sustained  without 
much  effort.  Legal  and  physical  penalties  apply  only  to  tho 
grosser  and  more  extreme  forms  of  vice.  Social  penalties! 
may  strike  the  very  highest  forms  of  virtue.'  That  A^ery 
sentiment  of  unity  with  mankind  which  utilitarians  assure 
us  is  one  day  to  become  so  strong  as  to  overpower  all  un- 
social feelings,  would  make  it  more  and  more  impossible  for 
men  consistently  with  their  happiness  to  adopt  any  course, 
whether  very  virtuous  or  very  vicious,  that  would  place 
them  out  of  harmony  with  the  general  sentiment  of  society.  It 
may  be  said  that  the  tranquillity  of  a  perfectly  vii-tuous  mind 
is  the  highest  form  of  happiness,  and  may  be  reasonably 
preferred  not  only  to  material  advantages,  but  also  to  the 
a2)probation  of  society ;  but  no  man  can  fully  attain,  and  few 
can  even  approximate,  to  such  a  condition.  When  vicious 
passions  and  impulses  are  very  strong,  it  is  idle  to  tell  the 
sufferer  that  he  would  be  more  happy  if  his  nature  were 
radically  different  from  what  it  is.  If  happiness  be  his  object, 
he  must  regulate  his  course  with  a  view  to  the  actual  condi- 
tion of  his  being,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  his  peace 
would  be  most  promoted  by  a  compromise  with  vice.  The 
selfish  theory  of  morals  applies  only  to  the  virtues  of  tem- 
perament, and  not  to  that  much  higher  form  of  virtue  which 
is  sustained  in  defiance  of  temperament. ^  We  have  no  doubt 
a  certam  pleasure  in  cultivating  our  good  tendencies,  but  we 
have  by  no  means  the  same  pleasure  in  repressing  our  bad 
ones.  There  are  men  whose  whole  lives  are  spent  in  willing 
one  thing,  and  desiring  the  opposite.     In  such  cases  as  these 


'  This  position  is  forcibly  illus-  or  a  soldier  in  many  countries  con- 

trated  Ly  Mr.  Manrice  in  his  fourth  scientionsly  refusing  iu  obedieiice 

lecture   0)i   Con.sci'uce  {18GS).     It  to  the  law  to  fight  a  duel,   would 

is  manifest  that  a  tradesman  re-  incur  the  full  force  of  social  penal- 

Bisting  a  dishonest  or  illegal  trade  ties,  because  he  failed  to  do  that 

custom,  an  Irish  peasant  in  a  dis-  which  was  illegal  or  criminal, 
turbed   district    revultins   against  ^  See  Brown  On  the  Characteri» 

the  agrarian  conspiracy  of  hij  class,  tics,^\).  2U6-209. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  CI 

vii-tue  clear' y  involves  a  sacrifice  of  happiness  ;  for  the  suffer- 
ing caused  by  resisting  natural  tendencies  is  much  greater 
than  would  ensue  from  their  moderate  gratification. 

The  plain  truth  is  that  no  proposition  can  be  more  pal- 
pably and  egi'egiously  false  than  the  assertion  that  as  far  as 
this  world  is  concerned,  it  is  invariably  conducive  to  the 
happiness  of  a  man  to  pursue  the  most  virtuous  career.  Cir- 
cumstances and  disposition  will  make  one  man  find  his 
highest  happiness  in  the  happiness,  and  another  man  in  the 
misery,  of  his  kind ;  and  if  the  second  man  acts  according  to 
his  interest,  the  utilitarian,  however  much  he  may  deplore 
the  result,  has  no  right  to  blame  or  condemn  the  agent.  For 
that  agent  is  following  his  greatest  happiness,  and  this,  in  the 
eyes  of  utilitarians,  in  one  form  or  another,  is  the  highest,  or 
to  speak  more  accurately,  the  only  motive  by  which  human 
nature  can  be  actuated. 

We  may  remark  too  that  the  disturbance  or  pain  which 
does  undoubtedly  usually  accompany  what  is  evil,  bears  no 
kind  of  proportion  to  the  enormity  of  the  guilt.  An  irrita- 
bility of  temper,  which  is  chiefly  due  to  a  derangement  of  the 
nervous  system,  or  a  habit  of  procrastination  or  indecision, 
will  often  cause  more  suffering  than  some  of  the  worst  vices 
that  can  corrupt  the  heart.  ^ 

But  it  may  be  said  this  calculation  of  pains  and  pleasin-es 
is  defective  through  the  omission  of  one  element.  Although 
a  man  who  had  a  very  strong  natural  impulse  towards  some 
vice  would  appear  more  likely  to  promote  the  tranquillity  of 
his  nature  by  a  moderate  and  circumspect  gratification  of  that 


'  'A  toothache  produces  more  •which  is  indeed  a  good  quality,  bufc 

violent  conA-iilsions  of  pain  than  a  which  is  rewarded  much  beytmd  its 

phthisis  or  a  dropsy.     A  gloomy  merit,  and  when  attended  with  good 

disposition  .  .  .  may  be  found  in  fortune    will   compensate   for   the 

very  worthy  characters,  though  it  uneasiness    and    remorse    arising 

is  stfficiei't  alone  to  embitter  life,  from  all  the  other  vices.' — Humes 

...  A  selfish  villain  may  possess  Essays :   The  Sceiitic. 
a  spring  a  d  alacrity  of  temper, 


02  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

VT.ce,  than  bj  endeavouring  painfully  to  repress  his  natural 
tendencies,  yet  he  possesses  a  conscience  which  adjudicates 
upon  his  conduct;  and  its  sting  or  its  approval  constitutes  a 
pain  or  pleasure  so  intense,  as  more  than  to  redress  the 
balance.  jSTow  of  course,  no  intuitive  moralist  will  deny, 
what  for  a  long  time  his  school  may  be  almost  said  to  have 
been  alone  in  asserting,  the  reality  of  conscience,  or  tbe 
pleasures  and  pains  it  may  afford.  He  simply  denies,  and  he 
appeals  to  consciousness  in  attestation  of  his  position,  that 
those  pains  and  pleasures  are  so  powerful  or  so  proportioned 
to  our  acts  as  to  become  an  adequate  basis  for  virtue.  Con- 
science, whether  we  regard  it  as  an  original  faculty,  or  as  a 
product  of  the  association  of  ideas,  exercises  two  distinct 
functions.  It  points  out  a  difference  between  right  and 
wrong,  and  when  its  commands  are  violated,  it  inflicts  a  cer- 
tain measure  of  suffering  and  disturbance.  The  first  function 
it  exercises  persistently  through  life.  The  second  it  only 
exercises  under  certain  special  circumstances.  It  is  scarcely 
conceivable  that  a  man  in  the  possession  of  his  faculties  should 
pass  a  life  of  gross  depravity  and  crime  without  being  con- 
scious that  he  was  doing  wrong ;  but  it  is  extremely  possible 
for  him  to  do  so  without  this  consciousness  having  any  ap- 
])reciable  influence  upon  his  tranquillity.  The  condition  of 
their  consciences,  as  Mr.  Carlyle  observes,  has  less  influence 
on  the  happiness  of  men  than  the  condition  of  their  Kvers. 
Considered  as  a  source  of  pain,  conscience  bears  a  striking 
resemblance  to  the  feeling  of  disgust.  ISTotwithstanding  the 
assertion  of  Dr.  Johnson,  I  venture  to  maintain  that  there 
are  multitudes  to  whom  the  necessity  of  discharging  the 
duties  of  a  butcher  would  be  so  inexpressibly  painful  and  re- 
volting, that  if  they  could  obtain  flesh  diet  on  no  other  con- 
lition,  they  would  relinquish  it  for  over.  But  to  those  who 
ire  inured  to  the  trade,  this  repugnance  has  simply  ceased, 
it  has  no  place  in  their  emotions  or  calculations.  Nor  can 
it  be  reasonably  questioned  that  most  men  by  an  assiduous 


THE    NATURAL    KISTOIIT    OF    JIOKALS.  63 

Attendance  at  the  slanghter-honse  could  acquire  a  similar 
indifference.  In  like  manner,  the  reproaches  of  conscience 
are  doubtless  a  very  real  and  important  form  of  suffering 
to  a  sensitive,  scrupulous,  and  vii-tuous  girl  who  has  com- 
mitted some  trivial  act  of  levity  or  disobedience ;  but  to 
an  old  and  hardened  criminal  they  are  a  matter  of  the  most 
absolute  iiidifierence. 

Now  it  is  undoubtedly  conceivable,  that  by  an  association 
of  ideas  men  might  acquire  a  feeling  that  would  cause  that 
which  would  naturally  be  pRinful  to  them  to  be  pleasurable, 
and  that  which  would  naturally  be  pleasurable  to  be  painful.^ 
But  the  question  will  immediately  arise,  why  slioiild  they  re- 
spect this  feeling  ?  We  have  seen  that,  according  to  the  in- 
ductive theory,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  natural  duty.  Men 
enter  into  life  solely  desirous  of  seeking  their  own  happiness. 
The  whole  edifice  of  virtue  arises  from  the  observed  fact,  that 
owing  to  the  constitution  of  our  nature,  and  the  intimacy  of 
our  social  relations,  it  is  necessary  for  our  happiness  to  abstain 
from  some  courses  that  would  be  immediately  pleasurable  and 
to  pursue  others  that  are  immediately  the  reverse.  Self-in- 
terest is  the  one  ultimate  reason  for  virtue,  however  much 


'•  A tthe  same  time,  tho  following  and  satisfactory.  .  .  .Butthepre- 

passage  contains.  I  think,  a  great  sumption  always  lies  on  the  other 

d^al  of  wisdom  and  of  a  kind  pecu-  side  in  all  enquiries  concerning:  the 

liarly  needed   in    England  at  the  origin  of  our  pissions,  and  of  the 

present  day  : —  The  nature  of  the  internal  operations  of  the  human 

subject  furnishes  the  strongest  pre-  mind.     The  simplest  and  most  ob- 

sumption    that   no    better   system  vious  cause  which  can  there  be  as- 

will  ever,   for   the   future,  be  in-  signed    for    any    phenomenon,    is 

vented,  in  order  to  account  for  the  probably  the   true  one.  ...    The 

origin  of  the  benevolent  from  the  affections  are  not  susceptible  of  any 

selfish  affections,  and  reduce  all  the  impression  from  tlie  refinements  of 

various   emotions   of    the    human  reason  or  imagination  ;  and  it  is  al- 

mind  to  a  perfect  simplicity.     The  ways  found  that  a  vigorous  exertion 

oase  is  not  the  same  in  this  species  of  the  latter  faculties,  necessarily, 

V  philosophy  as  in  physics.  Many  from   the    narrow  capacity   of  the 

an  hypothesis  in  nature,  contrary  human  mind,  destroys  all  activity 

to  first  appearances,  has  been  found,  in  the    former.' — Hume's  Enquiry 

on  more  accurate  scrutiny,   solid  Co)icerii/?)Cf  Morals,  .Append.  II. 


64  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

the  moral  cliemistry  of  Hartley  may  disguise  and  iransform 
it.  Ouglit  or  ought  not,  means  notliing  more  than  the  pros- 
pec't  of  acquiring  or  of  losing  pleasure.  The  fact  that  one 
line  of  conduct  promotes,  and  another  impairs  the  happiness  of 
others  is,  according  to  these  moralists,  in  the  last  analysis,  no 
reason  whatever  for  pursiung  the  former  or  avoiding  the 
latter,  unless  such  a  course  is  that  which  brings  us  tho 
greatest  happiness.  The  happiness  may  arise  from  the  action 
of  society  upon  ourselves,  or  from  our  own  naturally  benevo- 
lent disposition,  or,  again,  from  an  association  of  ideas,  which 
means  the  force  of  a  habit  we  have  formed,  but  in  any  case 
our  own  happiness  is  the  one  possible  or  conceivable  motive 
of  action.  If  this  be  a  true  picture  of  human  nature,  the 
reasonable  course  for  every  man  is  to  modify  his  disposition 
in  such  a  manner  that  he  may  attain  the  greatest  possible 
amount  of  enjoyment.  If  he  has  formed  an  association  of 
ideas,  or  contracted  a  habit  which  inflicts  more  pain  than  it 
prevents,  or  prevents  more  pleasure  than  ic  affords,  his  reason- 
able course  is  to  dissolve  that  association,  to  destroy  that 
habit.  This  is  what  he  '  ought  *  to  do  according  to  the  only 
meaning  that  word  can  possess  in  the  utilitarian  vocabulary. 
If  he  does  not,  he  will  justly  incur  the  charge  of  imprudence, 
which  is  the  only  charge  utilitarianism  can  consistently  bring 
against  vice. 

That  it  would  be  for  the  happiness  as  it  would  certa'nly  be 
in  the  power  of  a  man  of  a  temperament  such  as  I  have  lately 
described,  to  quench  that  conscientious  feeling,  which  by  its 
painful  reproaches  prevents  him  from  pursuing  the  course 
that  would  be  most  conducive  to  his  tranquillity,  I  conceive 
to  be  self-evident.  And,  indeed,  on  the  whole,  it  is  more 
than  doubtful  whether  conscience,  considered  apart  from  the 
course  of  action  it  prescribes,  is  not  the  cause  of  more  pain 
than  pleasure.  Its  reproaches  are  more  felt  than  its  ap- 
proval. The  self-complacency  of  a  virtuous  man  reflecting 
with  delight  upon  his  own   exceeding  merit,   is  fre<piently 


THE    NATURAL    IIISTORr    OF    xMORALS. 


65 


spoken  of  in  the  writings  of  moral  philosophers,^  but  is 
rarely  found  in  actual  life  where  the  most  tranquil  is  seldom 
the  most  perfect  nature,  where  the  sensitiveness  of  conscience 
increases  at  least  in  proportion  to  moral  growth,  and  where 
in  the  best  men  a  feeling  of  modesty  and  humility  is  always 
present  to  check  the  exuberance  of  self-gratulation. 

In  every  sound  system  of  morals  and  religion  the  motives 
of  virtue  become  more  powerful  the  more  the  mind  is  con- 
centrated upon  them.  It  is  when  they  are  lost  sight  of,  when 
they  are  obscured  by  passion,  unrealised  or  forgotten,  that 


''The  pleasing  consciousness 
and  self-approbation  that  rise  up 
in  the  mind  of  a  virtuous  man,  ex- 
clusively of  any  direct,  explicit, 
consideration  of  advantage  likely 
to  acci'ue  to  himself  from  his  pos 
session  of  those  good  qualities' 
(Hartley  On  Man,  a'oI.  i.  p.  493), 
form  a  theme  upon  which  moralists 
of  both  schools  are  ftmd  of  dilating, 
in  a  strain  that  reminds  one  irre- 
?istil»ly  of  the  self-complacency  of 
a  famous  nursery  hero,  while  reflect- 
ing upon  his  own  merits  over  a 
Christmas-pie.  Thus  Adam  Smith 
says,  '  The  man  who,  not  fiMm 
frivolous  fancy,  but  from  proper 
motives,  has  performed  a  generous 
action,  when  he  luoks  forward  to 
those  wh<im  he  has  served,  feels 
himself  to  be  the  natural  objec  of 
their  love  and  gratitude,  and  by 
sympathy  with  them,  of  the  esteem 
and  apprnbation  of  all  mankind. 
And  when  he  looks  backward  to 
the  motive  from  which  he  acted, 
and  surveys  it  in  the  light  in  which 
the  indifferent  spectator  will  sur- 
vey it,  ho  still  continues  to  enter 
into  it,  and  applauds  himself  by 
sympathy  with  the  approbation  of 
t:,his  supp'ised  impartial  judge.  In 
both  these  points  of  view,  his  con- 


duct appears  to  him  every  way 
agreeable.  .  .  .  Misery  and  wrptcl> 
edness  can  never  enter  the  breast 
in  which  dwells  complete  self-sa- 
tisfaction.'—  Theory  of  Moral  Senti- 
vicnts,  part  ii.  ch.  ii.  §  2  ;  part  iii. 
ch.  iii,  I  suspect  that  many  moral- 
ists confiise  the  self-gratulation 
which  theysnppose  a  vir-nuus  mati 
to  feel,  with  the  delight  a  religious 
man  experiences  from  the  sense  of 
the  protection  and  favour  of  the 
Deity.  But  these  two  feelings  are 
clearly  distinct,  atid  it  will,  I 
believe,  be  found  that  the  latter 
is  most  strongly  experienced  by  the 
very  men  who  most  sincerely  dis- 
claim all  sense  of  merit.  'Were 
the  perfect  man  to  exist,'  said  that 
good  and  great  writer,  Archer 
Eutler,  'he  himself  would  be  the 
last  t">  know  it;  for  the  highest 
stage  of  advaficement  is  the  lowest 
descent  in  humility.'  At  all  events, 
the  reader  will  observe,  that  on 
utilitarian  principles  nothing  could 
be  move  pernicious  or  criminal 
than  that  modest,  humble,  and 
diffident  spirit,  which  diminishes 
the  pleasure  of  self-gratulation, 
one  of  the  highest  utilitarian  mo 
tives  to  virtue. 


66  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

they  cease  to  operate.  But  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  utili- 
tarian conception  of  virtue  tkat  it  is  wholly  unable  to  resist 
the  solvent  of  analysis,  and  that  the  more  the  mind  realises 
its  origin  and  its  nature,  the  more  its  influence  on  character 
must  decline.  The  pleasures  of  the  senses  will  always  defy 
the  force  of  analysis,  for  they  have  a  real  foundation  in 
our  being.  They  have  their  basis  in  the  eternal  nature  of 
things.  But  the  pleasure  we  derive  from  the  practice  of 
virtue  rests,  according  to  this  school,  on  a  wholly  different 
basis.  It  is  the  result  of  casual  and  artificial  association,  of 
habit,  of  a  confusion  by  the  imagination  of  means  with  ends, 
of  a  certain  dignity  with  which  society  invests  qualities  or 
actions  that  are  useful  to  itself.  Just  in  proportion  as  this 
is  felt,  just  in  proportion  as  the  mind  separates  the  idea  of 
virtue  from  that  of  natural  excellence  and  obligation,  and 
realises  the  purely  artificial  character  of  the  connection,  just 
in  that  proportion  wiU  the  coercive  power  of  the  moral  F»otiv6 
be  destroyed.  The  utilitarian  rule  of  judging  actions  and 
dispositions  by  their  tendency  to  promote  ^r  dimiuish  hap- 
piness, or  the  maxim  of  Kant  that  .iian  should  always 
act  so  that  the  rule  of  his  conduct  might  be  adopted  as  a 
law  by  all  rational  beings  -.nay  be  very  useful  as  a  guide  in 
life ;  but  in  order  that  they  should  acquire  moral  weight, 
it  is  necessary  f-^  presuppose  the  sense  of  moral  obligation, 
the  consciousness  that  duty,  when  discovered,  has  a  legiti- 
mate plaim  to  be  the  guiding  principle  of  our  lives.  And  it 
is  this  element  which,  in  the  eye  of  reason,  the  mere  arti- 
^cial  association  of  ideas  can  never  furnish. 

Jf  the  patience  of  the  reader  has  enabled  him  to  accom- 
pany me  through  this  long  train  of  tedious  arguments,  he 
will,  I  think,  have  concluded  that  the  utilitarian  theory, 
though  undoubtedly  held  by  many  men  of  the  purest,  an«i 
by  some  men  of  almost  heroic  vii-tue,  would  if  carried  to 
its  logical  conclusions  prove  subversive  of  morality,  and 
especially,  and  in  the  very  highest  degree,  unfavourable  to 


Tin-:   NATUHAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  67 

aelf-Jenial  and  to  heroism.  Even  if  it  explains  these,  it  fails 
to  justify  them,  and  conscience  being  traced  to  a  mere  con- 
fusion of  the  means  of  happiness  with  its  end,  would  be 
wholly  unable  to  resist  the  solvent  of  criticism.  Tlicit  this 
theory  of  conscience  gives  a  true  or  adequate  description  of 
the  phenomenon  it  seeks  to  explain,  no  intuitive  moralist 
will  admit.  It  is  a  complete  though  common  mistake  to 
suppose  that  the  business  of  the  moralist  is  merely  to  explain 
the  genesis  of  certain  feelings  we  possess.  At  the  root  of  all 
morals  lies  an  intellectual  judgment  which  is  clearly  distinct 
from  liking  or  disliking,  from  pleasure  or  from  pain.  A 
man  who  has  injured  his  position  by  some  foolish  but  per- 
fectly innocent  act,  or  who  has  inadvertently  violated  some 
social  rule,  may  experience  an  emotion  of  self-reproach  or 
of  shame  quite  as  acute  as  if  he  had  committed  a  crime. 
But  he  is  at  the  same  time  clearly  conscious  that  his  conduct 
is  not  a  fit  subject  for  moral  reprobation,  that  the  grounds 
on  which  it  may  be  condemned  are  of  a  different  and  of 
a  lower  kind.  The  sense  of  obligation  and  of  legitimate 
supremacy,  which  is  the  essential  and  characteristic  feature 
of  conscience,  and  which  distinguishes  it  from  all  the  other 
parts  of  our  nature,  is  wholly  unaccounted  for  by  the  asso- 
ciation of  ideas.  To  say  that  a  certain  course  of  conduct  is 
pleasing,  and  that  a  certain  amount  of  pain  results  from  the 
weakening  of  feelings  that  impel  men  towards  it,  is  plainly 
different  from  what  men  mean  when  they  say  we  ought  to 
pursue  it.  The  virtue  of  Hartley  is,  in  its  last  analysis,  but 
a  disease  of  the  imagination.  It  may  be  more  advantageous  to 
society  than  avarice ;  but  it  is  formed  in  the  same  manner, 
and  has  exactly  the  same  degree  of  binding  force.* 


'  Hartley  has  tried  in  one  place  mechanically  in  the  manner  I  have 

to    evade   this    conclusion    by   an  described,  does  not  invalidate  the 

dpppal   to   the    doctrine    of    final  fact   that   it   is    intended  for  our 

causes.    He  says  that  the  fact  that  griide,    'for  all  the  things  which 

conscience  is  not  an  original  prin  have  evident  final  causes,  are  plain 

ciple  of  our  nature,  but  is  formed  ly   brought   about   by  mechanical 


68  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

Ttese  considerations  will  help  to  supply  an  answer  fco 
the  common  utilitarian  objection  that  to  speak  of  duty  as 
distinct  from  self-interest  is  unmeaning,  because  it  is  absurd 
to  say  that  we  are  unaer  an  obligation  to  do  any  thing  wlicn 
no  evil  consequences  would  result  to  us  from  not  doing  it. 
Kewards  and  punishments  it  may  be  answered  are  un- 
doubtedly necessary  to  enforce,  but  they  are  not  necessary  to 
constitute,  duty.  This  distinction,  whether  it  be  real  or 
not,  has  at  all  events  the  advantage  of  appearing  self-evident 
to  all  who  are  not  philosophers.  Thus  when  a  party  of 
colonists  occupy  a  new  territory  they  divide  the  unoccupied 
land  among  themselves,  and  they  murder,  or  employ  for  the 
gratification  of  the:r  lusts,  the  savage  inhabitants.  Both 
acts  are  done  with  perfect  impunity,  but  one  is  felt  to  be 
innocent  and  the  other  wrong.  A  lawful  government  appro- 
priates the  laiid  and  protects  the  aboriginals,  supporting  its 
enactments  by  penalties.  In  the  one  case  the  law  both 
creates  and  enforces  a  duty,  in  the  other  it  only  enforces  it. 
The  intuitive  moralist  simply  asserts  that  we  have  the  power 
of  perceiving  that  certain  courses  of  action  arc  higher,  nobler. 

means  ; '  and  he  appeals  to  the  milk  regarded  as  an  original  principle  oi 

in  the  breast,  which  is  intended  ior  our   nature,    or   as    a   product   oi 

the  sustenance  of  the  young,  but  association?     Simply  this.     If  by 

which  is  neA-ertheless  mecl.aiiieally  the  constitution  of  our  nature  we 

produced.     (O/i   Mav,  voL  ii.  pp.  are  subject  to  a  law  of  duty  which 

338-339.)     But    it   is   plain    that  is  different  from  and  higher  than 

this  mode  of  rrasoning  would  jus-  our  interest,  a  man  who  ^•iolates 

tify  us  in  attributing  an  authori-  this  law  through    interested    mo- 

tative  character  to  any  habit — eg.  lives,  is  doserA'ing  of  reprobation, 

to   that   of  aA-arice — which    these  If  on  the  other  hand  there  is  no 

WTiters  assure  us  is  in  thp  manner  natural   law   of  duty,    and  if  the 

of  its  formation  an  exact  parallel  to  pursuit  of  our  interest  is  the  one 

conscience.     Th--  later  followers  of  original  principle  of  our  being,  no 

Hartley  certainly  cannot  be  accused  one  can  bo  censured  who  pur.sues 

of  anv'  e«cessive    predilection   for  it,  and  the  first  criterion  of  a  wise 

the  doctrine  of  fined  causes,  yet  we  man  will  be  his  determination  to 

scmetimes  find  them  asking  what  eradicate    every   habit    (conscien- 

great  difference  it  can  make  whe-  tinus  or  otherwise)  which  impedes 

ther  (when  conscience  is  adTiitted  him  "n  doing  so. 
by  both  parties  to  be  real)  it   is 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  69 

8ud  better  than  others,  and  that  by  the  constitution  of  our 
being,  this  fact,  wliich  is  genericallj  distinct  from  the  prospect 
of  pleasure  or  the  reverse,  may  and  ought  to  be  and  con- 
tinually is  a  motive  of  action.  It  is  no  doubt  possible  for  a 
man  to  prefer  the  lower  coui'se,  and  in  this  case  we  say  lie 
Cb  deserving  of  punishment,  and  if  he  remains  unpunished 
we  say  that  it  is  unjust.  But  if  there  were  no  power  to 
reward  or  punish  him,  his  acts  would  not  be  indifferent. 
They  would  still  be  intelligibly  described  as  essentially  base 
or  noble,  shameful  though  there  were  none  to  censure,  ad- 
mirable though  there  were  none  to  admire. 

That  men  have  the  power  of  preferring  other  objects 
than  happiness  is  a  proposition  which  must  ultimately  be 
left  to  the  attestation  of  consciousness.  That  the  pursuit  of 
virtue,  however  much  happiness  may  eventually  follow  in 
its  train,  is  in  the  first  instance  an  example  of  this  preference, 
must  be  established  by  that  common  voice  of  mankind  which 
has  invariably  regarded  a  virtuous  motive  as  generically 
different  from  an  interested  one.  And  indeed  even  when 
the  conflict  between  strong  passions  and  a  strong  sense  of 
duty  does  not  exist  it  is  impossible  to  measure  the  deo-rees 
of  virtue  by  the  scale  of  enjoyment.  The  highest  nature  is 
rarely  the  happiest.  Petronius  Arbiter  was,  very  probably, 
a  happier  man  than  Marcus  Aurelius.  For  eighteen  centuries 
the  religious  instinct  of  Christendom  has  recognised  its  ideal 
in  the  form  of  a  '  Man  of  Sorrow^s,' 

Considerations  such  as  I  have  now  urged  lead  the  in- 
tuitive moralists  to  reject  the  principles  of  the  utilitarian. 
They  acknowledge  indeed  that  the  effect  of  actions  upon  the 
happiness  of  mankind  forms  a  most  important  element  in 
determining  their  moral  quality,  but  they  maintain  that 
without  natural  moral  perceptions  we  never  should  have 
known  that  it  was  our  duty  to  seek  the  ha])piness  of  man- 
kind when  it  diverged  from  our  own,  and  they  deny  that 
virtue  was  either  originally  evolved  from  or  is  necessarily 


70  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

proportioned  to  utility.  They  acknowledge  that  in.  tlie 
existing  condition  of  society  there  is  at  least  a  general  coin- 
cidence between  the  paths  of  virtue  and  of  prosperity,  but 
they  contend  that  the  obligation  of  virt.ue  is  of  such  a  nature 
that  no  conceivable  convulsion  of  affairs  could  destroy  it, 
and  that  it  would  continue  even  if  the  government  of  the 
world  belonged  to  supreme  malice  instead  of  supreme  bene- 
volence. Virtue,  they  believe,  is  something  more  than  a 
calculation  or  a  habit.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  its  fun- 
damental principles  reversed.  Notwithstanding  the  strong 
tendency  to  confuse  cognate  feelings,  the  sense  of  duty  an*^* 
the  sense  of  utility  remain  perfectly  distinct  in  the  appre- 
hension of  mankind,  and  we  are  quite  capable  of  recognising 
each  separate  ingredient  in  the  same  act.  Our  respect  for  a 
gallant  but  dangerous  enemy,  our  contempt  for  a  useful 
traitor,  our  care  in  the  last  moments  of  life  for  the  interests 
of  those  who  survive  us,  our  clear  distinction  between  inten- 
tional and  unintentional  injuries,  and  between  the  conscious- 
ness of  imprudence  and  the  consciousness  of  guilt,  our 
conviction  that  the  pursuit  of  interest  should  always  be 
checked  by  a  sense  of  duty,  and  that  selfish  and  moral 
motives  are  so  essentially  opposed,  that  the  presence  of  the 
former  necessarily  weakens  the  latter,  our  indignation  at 
those  who  when  honour  or  gratitude  call  them  to  sacrifice 
their  interests  pause  to  calculate  remote  consequences,  the 
feeling  of  remorse  which  differs  from  every  other  emotion  of 
our  nature — in  a  word,  the  univei'sal,  unstudied  sentiments 
of  mankind  all  concur  in  leading  us  to  separate  widely  our 
virtuous  affections  from  our  selfish  <  nes.  Just  as  pleasure 
and  pain  are  ultimate  grounds  of  act  "en,  and  no  reason  can 
be  given  why  we  should  seek  the  former  and  avoid  the 
latter,  except  that  it  is  the  constitution  of  our  nature  that 
we  should  do  so,  so  we  are  conscious  tliat  the  words  right 
and  \\T:ong  express  ultimate  intelligible  motives,  that  these 
motives  arc  generically  different  from  the  others,  that  they  are 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORI    OF    MORALS.  71 

of  a  higlier  order,  and  that  they  carry  with  them  a  sense  of 
ohligiition.  Any  scheme  of  morals  that  omits  these  facts 
fails  to  give  an  accurate  and  adequate  description  of  tlie 
states  of  feeling  which  consciousness  reveals.  The  con- 
sciences of  men  in  every  age  would  have  echoed  the  assertion 
of  Cicero  that  to  sacrifice  pleasure  with  a  view  of  obtaining 
any  form  or  modification  of  pleasure  in  return,  no  more 
answers  to  our  idea  of  virtue,  than  to  lend  money  at  interest 
to  our  idea  of  charity.  The  conception  of  pure  disinterested- 
ness is  presupposed  in  our  estimates  of  virtue.  It  is  the 
root  of  all  the  emotions  with  which  we  contemplate  acts  of 
heroism.  We  feel  that  man  is  capable  of  pursuing  what  he 
believes  to  be  right  although  pain  and  disaster  and  mental 
sufiering  and  an  early  death  be  the  consequence,  and  although 
no  prospect  of  future  reward  lighten  upon  his  tomb.  This 
is  the  highest  prerogative  of  our  being,  the  jjoint  of  contact 
between  the  human  nature  and  the  divine. 

In  addition  to  the  dii-ect  arguments  in  its  support,  the 
utilitarian  school  owes  much  of  its  influence  to  some  very 
powerful  moral  and  intellectual  predispositions  in  its  favour — 
the  first,  which  we  shall  hereafter  examine,  consisting  of  the 
temlency  manifested  in  certain  conditions  of  society  towards 
the  qualities  it  is  most  calculated  to  produce,  and  the  second 
of  the  almost  ii'resistible  attraction  which  unity  and  precision 
exercise  on  many  minds.  It  was  this  desire  to  simplify 
human  nature,  by  reducing  its  various  faculties  and  com- 
plex operations  to  a  single  principle  or  process,  that  gave  its 
great  popularity  to  the  sensational  school  of  the  last  century. 
It  led  most  metaphysicians  of  that  school  to  deny  the  duality 
of  human  nature.  It  led  Bonnet  and  Condillac  to  propose 
an  animated  statue,  endowed  with  the  five  senses  as  channels 
of  ideas,  and  with  faculties  exclusively  employed  in  trans- 
forming the  products  of  sensation,  as  a  perfect  representative 
of  humanity.  It  led  Helvetius  to  assert  that  the  original 
faculties  of  all  men  were  precisely  the  same,  all  the  difference 


7*2  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    M0RAL5?. 

between  -what  we  call  genius  and  what  we  call  stupiditjr 
arising  from  diiferences  of  ciixumstances,  and  all  the  difference 
between  men  and  animals  arising  mainly  from  the  structure 
of  the  human  hand.  In  morals,  theories  of  unification  are 
peculiarly  plausible,  and  I  think  peculiarly  dangerous,  be- 
cause, owing  to  the  interaction  of  our  moral  sentiments,  and 
the  many  transformations  that  each  can  undergo,  there  are 
few  affections  that  might  not  under  some  conceivable  circum- 
stances become  the  parents  of  every  other.  ^^Tien  Hobbes, 
in  the  name  of  the  philosophy  of  self-interest,  contended  that 
'  Pity  is  but  the  imagination  of  future  calamity  to  ourselves, 
produced  by  the  sense  of  another  man's  calamity  ;'•  when 
Hutcheson,  in  the  name  of  the  philosophy  of  benevolence, 
argued  that  the  vice  of  intemperance  is  that  it  impels  us  to 
violence  towards  others,  and  weakens  our  capacity  for  doing 
them  good; 2  when  other  moralists  defending  the  excellence 
of  our  nature  maintained  that  compassion  is  so  emphatically 
the  highest  of  our  pleasures  that  a  desire  of  gratifying  it  is 
the  cause  of  our  acts  of  barbarity;^  each  of  these  theories, 


'  On  Human  Nature,  chap.  ix.  made  it  one  of  the  rules  of  his  life 

§  10.  toavoid  everything  that  could  siig- 

2  Enquiry  concerning  Good  and  gest  painful  ideas.     Holjbes  makes 

Evil.  the   following   very    characteristic 

•''  This  theory  is  noticed  hy  comments  on  some  famous  lines  of 
Hutcheson,  and  a  -writer  in  the  Lucretius:  'From  what  passion 
Spectator  (No.  436)  suggests  that  proceedeth  it  that  men  take  plea- 
it  mny  explain  the  attraction  of  sure  to  behold  from  the  shore  the 
prize-figlits.  The  case  of  the  plea/-  danger  of  those  tliat  are  at  sea  in 
sure  derived  from  fictitious  sorrow  a  tempest  O"  in  fight,  or  from  a  safe 
is  a  distinct  question,  and  has  been  castle  to  behold  two  armies  charge 
admirably  treated  in  Lord  Kames'  one  another  in  the  field?  It  is 
Etsai/s  on  Morality.  Bishop  Butler  certainly  in  the  whole  sum  joy, 
n  tices  {Second  Sermon  on  Commas-  else  men  would  never  flock  to  such 
SW7.),  that  it  is  possible  for  the  a  spectacle.  Nevertheless,  there 
very  intensity  of  a  feeling  of  com-  is  both  joy  and  grief,  for  as  there 
passion  to  divert  men  from  charity  is  novelty  and  remembrance  of  our 
by  making  them 'industriously  turn  own  security  present,  which  is  de- 
away  from  the  miserable ; '  and  it  light,  so  there  is  also  pity,  which 
is  well  known  that  Goethe,  on  is  grief.  But  the  del  ght  is  so  far 
account  of  this  very  susceptibility,  predominant  that  men  usually  are 


THE    Is^ATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  73 

cxlravagant  as  it  is,  contains  a  germ  of  undoubted  psycho- 
logical truth.  It  is  true  that  a  mind  intensely  apprehensive 
of  future  calamities  would  on  that  account  receive  a  shock  at 
i]\e  sight  of  the  calamities  of  others.  It  is  true  that  a  very 
teen  and  absorbing  sentiment  of  benevolence  would  be  in 
itself  sufficient  to  divert  men  from  any  habit  that  impaired 
their  power  of  gratifying  it.  It  is  true  that  compassion  in- 
volves a  certain  amount  of  pleasure,  and  conceivable  that 
this  pleasure  might  be  so  intensified  that  we  might  seek  it 
by  a  crime.  The  error  in  these  theories  is  not  that  they 
exaggerate  the  possible  efficacy  of  the  motives,  but  that 
they  exaggerate  their  actual  intensity  in  human  nature  and 
describe  falsely  the  process  by  which  the  results  they  seek  to 
explain  have  been  arrived  at.  The  function  of  observation 
in  moral  philosophy  is  not  simply  to  attest  the  moral  senti- 
ments we  possess,  leaving  it  to  the  reason  to  determine 
deductively  how  they  may  have  been  formed  ;  it  is  rather  to 
follow  them  through  all  the  stages  of  their  formation. 

And  here  I  may  observe  that  the  term  inductive,  like 
most  others  that  are  employed  in  moral  philosophy,  may  give 


content  in  such  a  case  to  be  spec-  which  the  damned  undergo  might 
tators  of  the  misery  of  their  seem  to  deti'act  from  the  happiness 
friends.'  {On  Hun/cai  ]S'ati(re,ch.ix.  of  the  blessed  thi'ough  pity  and 
§  19.)  Good  Christians,  according  commiseration,  yet  under  another, 
to  some  theologians,  are  expected  a  nearer  and  much  more  affecting 
to  enjoy  this  pleasure  in  gi-eat  consideration,  viz.  that  all  this  is 
perfection  in  heaven.  'We  may  the  misery  they  themselves  were 
believe  in  the  next  ■n'orld  also  the  often  exposed  to  and  in  danger  of 
goodness  as  well  as  the  happiness  incurring,  why  may  not  > he  sense 
of  the  blest  will  be  confirmed  and  of  their  own  escape  so  far  overcome 
advanced  by  reflections  naturally  the  sense  of  another's  ruin  as  quite 
arising  from  the  view  of  the  misery  to  extinguish  the  pain  that  usually 
which  some  shall  undergo,  which  attends  the  idea  of  it.  and  e-veu 
Bcems  to  be  a  good  reason  for  the  render  it  productive  of  some  real 
oisation  of  those  beings  who  shall  happ'ness?  To  this  purp^^se.  Lu- 
be finally  miserable,  and  for  the  cretins'  Suave  vuiri,'  etc.  {Law's 
continuation  of  them  in  their  mi-  notes  to  his  Translation  of  Kingi 
serable  existence  ....  though  in  Origin  of  Evil,  i>t^.  477,  479.) 
one  respect  the  view  of  the  misery 

7 


74  HISTORY   OF   EUROPEAN    MOP.ALS. 

rise  to  serious  misconception.  It  is  properly  applied  to  those 
moralists  who,  disbelieving  the  existence  of  any  moral  sense 
or  faculty  revealing  to  us  what  is  right  and  wrong,  maintain 
that  the  origin  of  those  ideas  is  simply  our  experience  of  the 
tendency  of  different  lines  of  conduct  to  promote  or  impair 
true  happiness.  It  appears,  however,  to  be  sometimes  ima- 
gined that  inductive  moralists  alone  think  that  it  is  by  in- 
duction or  experience  that  we  ought  to  ascertain  what  is  the 
origin  of  our  moral  ideas.  But  this  I  conceive  to  be  a  com- 
plete mistake.  The  basis  of  morals  is  a  distinct  question  from 
the  basis  of  theories  of  morals.  Those  who  maintain  the 
existence  of  a  moral  faculty  do  not,  as  is  sometimes  said, 
assume  this  proposition  as  a  first  principle  of  their  arguments, 
but  they  arrive  at  it  by  a  process  of  induction  quite  as  severe 
as  any  that  can  be  employed  by  theii'  opponents.^  They  ex- 
amine, analyse,  and  classify  their  existing  moral  feelings, 
ascertain  in  what  respects  those  feelings  agree  with  or  differ 
from  others,  trace  them  through  theii*  various  phases,  and 
only  assign  them  to  a  special  faculty  when  they  think  they 
have  shown  them  to  be  incapable  of  resolution,  and  gene- 
rically  different  from  all  others. ^ 


'  See  e.g.  Beid's  Essays  on  the  the  existence  of  a  moral  sense  oi 

Active  Powers,  essay  iii.  ch.  v.  faculty,  or  of  first  principles,  inca- 

^  The    error  I  have   traced   in  paLle  of  resolution  ;  and  he  enters 

this  paragraph  will  be  found  run-  into   a   learned    enquiry   into   the 

ning  through  a  great  part  of  what  causes  which    made  it  impossible 

Mr.    Buckle     has    written     upon  for   Scotch  writers   to    pursue    or 

morals — I  think  the  weakest  por-  appreciate  the   inductive    method, 

tion   of  his  great  work.     See,  for  It  is  curious  to  contrast  this  view 

example,  an  elaborate  confusion  on  with    the   language   of  one,    who, 

the  H\i\)ject.  Histoi-y  of  Civilisation,  whatever  may  be  the  value  of  his 

vol.  ii.  p.  429.     Mr.  Buckle  main-  original  speculations,  is.  I  conceive, 

taiiis  that  all  the  philosophers  of  amongthe  very  ablest  philosophical 

what     is    commonly    called    'the  critics    of    the    present     century. 

Scot  :h  school '  (a  school  founded  by  'Les    philosophes    ecr  Bais    adop- 

the   Irishman   Hutcheson,  and  to  terent  les  procedes  que  Bacon  avait 

vrhich    Hume    does    not   belong),  recommande  d'appliquer  a  Tetude 

jvere   incapable   of  inductive  rea-  du  monde  physique,  et  les  trans- 

»omng,    because    they    maintained  porterent  dans  I'etude  du   irond* 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  75 

This  separation  is  all  tliat  is  meant  by  a  moral  faculty. 
V\G  are  apt  to  regard  tlie  term  as  implying  a  distinct  and 
well  defined  organ,  bearing  to  the  mind  the  same  kind  of 
relation  as  a  limb  to  the  body.  But  of  the  existence  of  such 
organs,  and  of  the  propriety  of  such  material  imagery,  we 
know  nothing.  Perceiving  in  ourselves  a  will,  and  a  crowd 
of  intellectual  and  emotional  phenomena  that  seem  wholly 
difiercnt  from  the  properties  of  matter,  we  infer  the  existence 
of  an  immaterial  substance  which  wills,  thinks,  and  feels,  and 
can  classify  its  own  operations  with  considerable  precision. 
The  term  faculty  is  simply  an  expression  of  classification. 
If  we  say  that  the  moral  faculty  difiers  from  the  aesthetic 
faculty,  we  can  only  mean  that  the  mind  forms  certain  judg- 
ments of  moral  excellence,  and  also  certain  judgments  of 
beauty,  and  that  these  two  mental  processes  are  clearly  dis- 
tinct. To  ask  to  what  part  of  our  nature  moral  perceptions 
should  be  attributed,  is  only  to  ask  to  what  train  of  mental 
phenomena  they  bear  the  closest  resemblance. 

If  this  simple,  but  often  neglected,  consideration  be  borne 


moral.     lis  firent  voir  que  I'induc  rait    a    I'obpervation    serait    aussi 

tion   baconienne,   c'est-a-dire,   I'in  sterile  que  ccUe  qui  s'amuserait  a 

duction  precedee  d'une  observation  consti-uire    des    hypotheses     sans 

Bcrupuleuse  dcs  phenomenes,  est  en  avoir     prealablement     observe.' — 

philosophic  comnie  en  physique  la  Cousin,  Hist,  de  la  Philos.    Morale 

seule  methode  legitime.     CVst  un  au  xviii""^  Siefle,  Tome  4,  p.  H-16. 

de  leurs  titres  les  plus   honorables  Diigald  Stewart  had  said  much  tlie 

davoir  insiste  sur  cette  dcmonstra-  same  thing,  but   he  was  a  Scotch- 

tion,    et   d'avoir    en    meme    temps  m:m,   and    thernforc,   aocnrding  to 

joint  I'exemple  au  preceptt^.  .  .    .  Mr.   Buckle   (Hist,   of  Civ.   ii.  pp. 

II   est  vrai  que  le  zele  des  philo-  485-86),  incapable  of  understand- 

sophes  ecossais  en  faveur  de  la  me-  ing  what  induction  was.      I  may 

thode  d'obserratfon  leur  a  presque  add  that  one  of  the  principal  objec 

fait    depasser    le    but.       lis    out  tions    M.     Cousin    makes   against 

incline  a  renfermer  la  psychologic  Locke  is,  that  he  investigated  the 

dans  la  description  minutieuse  et  oriizin  of  our  ideas  before  analysing 

eontinuelle  de  phenomenes  de  I'amo  minutely  their  nature,  and  the  pro 

eans  reflechir  assez  que  cette  de-  P'icty  of  this  method  is  one  of  the 

Bcription  doit  faire  place  a  I'induc-  points  on  which  Mr.  Mill  {Rx^zmi- 

tion  et  au  raisonnement  deductif,  nation  of  Sir  W.  Hamilton)  is  at 

et  qu'uiie  philosophie  qui  se  borne-  issue  with  M.  Cousiu. 


76  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

in  mind,  the  apparent  discordance  of  intuitive  moralists  will 
appear  less  profound  than  might  at  first  sight  be  supposed, 
for  each  section  merely  elucidates  some  one  characteristic  of 
moral  judgments.  Thus  Butler  insists  upon  the  sense  of  obli- 
gation that  is  involved  in  them,  contends  that  this  separates 
them  from  all  other  sentiments,  and  assigns  them  in  conse- 
quence to  a  special  faculty  of  supreme  authority  called  con- 
science. Adam  Smith  and  many  other  writers  were  especi- 
ally struck  by  their  sympathetic  character.  We  are  naturally 
attracted  by  humanity,  and  repelled  by  cruelty,  and  tliia 
instinctive,  unreasoning  sentiment  constitutes,  according  to 
these  moralists,  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong. 
Cudworth,  however,  the  English  precursor  of  Kant,  had  al- 
ready anticipated,  and  later  metaphysicians  have  more  fully 
exhibited,  the  inadequacy  of  such  an  analysis.  Justice,  huma- 
nity, veracity,  and  kindred  virtues  not  merely  have  the  power 
of  attracting  us,  we  have  also  an  intellectual  perception  that 
they  are  essentially  and  immutably  good,  that  their  nature 
does  not  depend  upon,  and  is  not  relative  to,  our  constitutions ; 
that  it  is  impossible  and  inconceivable  they  should  ever  be 
vices,  and  their  opposites,  virtues.  They  are,  therefore,  it  is 
said,  intuitions  of  the  reason.  Clarke,  developing  the  same 
rational  school,  and  following  in  the  steps  of  those  moralists 
who  regard  our  nature  as  a  hierarchy  of  powers  or  faculties, 
with  different  degrees  of  dignity,  and  an  appropriate  order  of 
supremacy  and  subordination,  maintained  that  virtue  con- 
sisted in  harmony  with  the  nature  of  things.  Wollaston 
endeavoured  to  reduce  it  to  truth,  and  Hutcheson  to  benevo- 
lence, which  he  maintained  is  recognised  and  approved  by 
what  his  respect  for  the  philosophy  of  Locke  induced  him  to 
call  '  a  moral  sense,'  but  what  Shaftesbury  had  regarded  as 
a  moral  '  taste.'  The  pleasure  attending  the  gratification  of 
this  taste,  according  to  Shaftesbury  and  Henry  More,  is  the 
motive  to  viitue.  The  doctrine  of  a  moral  sense  or  faculty 
was  the  basis  of  the  ethics  of  Eeid.     Hume  maintained  that 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  77 

tlie  peculiar  quality  of  virtue  is  its  utility,  but  that  oui 
affections  are  purely  disinterested,  and  that  we  arrive  at 
our  knowledge  of  what  is  virtuous  by  a  moral  sense  implanted 
in  our  nature,  which  leads  us  instinctively  to  approve  of  all 
acts  that  are  beneficial  to  others.  Expanding  a  pre.gnant 
hint  which  had  been  thrown  out  by  Butler,  he  laid  the  foun 
dation  for  a  union  of  the  schools  of  Clarke  and  Shaftesbury, 
by  urging  that  our  moral  decisions  are  not  simple,  but  com* 
plex,  containing  both  a  judgment  of  the  reason,  and  an  emiv- 
tion  of  the  heart.  This  fact  has  been  elucidated  still  farther 
by  later  writers,  who  have  observed  that  these  two  elements 
apply  in  varying  degi-ees  to  different  kinds  of  virtue.  Accord- 
ing to  Lord  Kames,  our  intellectual  perception  of  right  and 
wrong  aj)plies  most  strictly  to  vii'tues  like  justice  or  veracity, 
which  are  of  what  is  called  '  j)ei'fect  obligation,'  or,  in  other 
words,  are  of  such  a  nature,  that  their  violation  is  a  distinct 
crime,  while  the  emotion  of  attraction  or  affection  is  shown 
most  strongly  towards  vii'tues  of  imperfect  obligation,  like 
benevolence  or  charity.  Like  Hutcheson  and  Shaftesbury^ 
Lord  Kames  notices  the  analogies  between  our  moral  and 
jBsthetical  judgments. 

These  last  analogies  open  out  a  region  of  thought 
widely  different  fr(jm  that  we  have  been  traversing.  The 
close  connection  between  the  good  and  the  beautiful  has  been 
always  felt,  so  much  so,  that  both  were  in  Greek  expressed 
by  the  same  word,  and  in  the  philosophy  of  Plato,  moral 
beauty  was  regarded  as  the  archetype  of  which  all  visible 
beauty  is  only  the  shadow  or  the  image.  "We  all  feel  that 
there  is  a  strict  propriety  in  the  term  moral  beauty.  We  feel 
that  there  are  different  forms  of  beauty  which  have  a  natural 
correspondence  to  different  moral  qualities,  and  much  of  the 
charm  of  poetry  and  eloquence  rests  upon  this  harmony. 
We  feel  that  we  have  a  direct,  immediate,  intuitive  percep- 
tion that  some  objects,  such  as  the  sky  above  us,  are  beauti- 
ful, that  this  perception  of  beauty  is  totally  different,  and 


78  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

could  not  possibly  be  derived,  from  a  perception  of  theii 
utility,  and  that  it  bears  a  very  striking  resemblance  to 
the  instantaneous  and  unreasoning  admiration  elicited  by  a 
generous  or  heroic  action.  We  perceive  too,  if  we  examine 
■with  care  the  operations  of  our  own  mind,  that  an  sesthetica] 
judgment  includes  an  intuition  or  intellectual  perception, 
and  an  emotion  of  attraction  or  admii'ation,  very  similar  to 
those  which  compose  a  moral  judgment.  The  very  idea  of 
beauty  again  implies  that  it  should  be  admii^ed,  as  the  idea 
of  happiness  implies  that  it  should  be  desired,  and  the  idea  of 
duty  that  it  should  be  performed.  There  is  also  a  striking 
correspondence  between  the  degree  and  kind  of  uniformity 
we  can  in  each  case  discover.  That  there  is  a  difference 
between  right  and  wrong,  and  between  beauty  and  ugliness, 
are  both  propositions  which  are  universally  felt.  That  right 
is  better  than  wrong,  and  beauty  than  ugliness,  are  equally 
unquestioned.  When  we  go  further,  and  attempt  to  define 
the  natuie  of  these  qualities,  we  are  met  indeed  by  great 
diversities  of  detail,  but  by  a  far  larger  amount  of  substantial 
unity.  Poems  like  the  Iliad  or  the  Psalms,  springing  in  the 
most  dissimilar  quarters,  have  commanded  the  admiration  of 
men,  through  all  the  changes  of  some  3,000  years.  The  charm 
of  music,  the  harmony  of  the  female  countenance,  the  majesty 
of  the  stari y  sky,  of  the  ocean  or  of  the  mountain,  the  gentler 
beauties  of  the  murmuring  stream  or  of  the  twilight  shades, 
were  felt,  as  they  are  felt  now,  when  the  imagination  of  the 
infant  world  first  embodied  itself  in  written  words.  And 
in  the  same  way  types  of  heroism,  and  of  vu^tue,  descending 
from  the  remotest  ages,  command  the  admiration  of  man- 
kind. We  can  sympathise  with  the  emotions  of  praise  or 
blame  revealed  in  the  earliest  historians,  and  the  most  ancient 
Qioralists  strike  a  responsive  chord  in  every  heart.  The 
broad  lines  remain  unchanged.  No  one  ever  contended  that 
justice  was  a  vice  or  ^'njustice  a  virtue;  or  that  a  summer 
BunBet  was  a  lepulsive  object,  or  that  the  sores  upon  a  humar 


THE    ^'ATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  i\f 

body  yiere  beautiful.  Always,  too,  the  objects  of  aesthetic al 
admiration  were  divided  into  two  great  classes,  the  sublime 
and  the  beautiful,  which  in  ethics  have  their  manifest  counter- 
pai-ts  in  the  heroic  and  the  amiable. 

If,  again,  we  examine  the  undoubted  diversities  that  exist 
in  judgments  of  virtue  and  of  beauty,  we  soon  disco A-er  that 
in  each  case  a  large  proportion  of  them  are  to  be  ascribed  to 
the  different  degrees  of  civilisation.  The  moral  standartl 
changes  within  certain  limits,  and  according  to  a  regular 
process  with  the  evolutions  of  society.  There  are  vii'tues 
very  highly  estimated  in  a  rude  civilisation  which  sink  into 
comparative  insignificance  in  an  organised  society,  while  con- 
versely, virtues  that  were  deemed  secondary  in  the  first  be- 
come primary  in  the  other.  There  are  even  virtues  that  it 
is  impossible  for  any  but  highly  cultivated  minds  to  recog- 
nise. Questions  of  vii-tue  and  vice,  such  as  the  difference 
between  humanity  and  barbarity,  or  between  temperance  and 
intemperance,  are  sometimes  merely  (jrestions  of  degree,  and 
the  standard  at  one  stage  of  civilisation  may  be  much  higher 
than  at  another.  Just  in  the  same  way  a  steady  modification 
of  tastes,  w^hile  a  recognition  of  the  broad  features  of  beauty 
remains  unchanged,  accompanies  advancing  civilisation.  The 
preference  of  gaudy  to  subdued  tints,  of  colour  to  form,  of  a 
florid  to  a  chaste  style,  of  convulsive  attitudes,  gigantic 
figures,  and  strong  emotions,  may  be  looked  for  with  con- 
siderable confidence  in  an  uninstructed  people.  The  refining 
influence  of  cultivation  is  in  no  sphere  more  remarkable  than 
in  the  canons  of  taste  it  produces,  and  there  are  few  better 
measures  of  the  civilisation  of  a  people  than  the  conceptions 
of  beauty  it  forms,  the  type  or  ideal  it  endeavours  to  realise. 
IMany  diversities,  however,  both  of  moral  and  sesthetical 
■'udgments,  may  be  traced  to  accidental  causes.  Some  one 
who  is  greatly  admired,  or  who  possesses  great  influence,  is 
JistLiguished  by  some  peculiarity  of  appearance,  or  introduces 
some   peculia.iity  of  dress.      He   will   soon    find  countless 


•^0  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAIT    MORAL?. 

imitators.  Gradually  the  natural  sense  of  beauty  will  ha 
come  vitiated;  the  eye  and  the  taste  will  adjust  themselves 
to  a  false  and  artificial  standard,  and  men  will  at  last  judge 
according  to  it  with  the  most  absolute  spontaneity.  In  the 
same  way,  if  any  accidental  circumstance  has  elevated  an 
indifferent  action  to  peculiar  honour,  if  a  reKgious  system 
enforces  it  as  a  virtue  or  brands  it  as  a  vice,  the  consciences 
of  men  will  after  a  time  accommodate  themselves  to  the  sen- 
tence, and  an  appeal  to  a  wider  than  a  local  tribunal  is 
necessary  to  correct  the  error.  Every  nation,  again,  from  its 
peculiar  circumstances  and  position,  tends  to  some  particular 
type,  both  of  beauty  and  of  virtue,  and  it  naturally  extols 
its  national  type  beyond  all  others.  The  virtues  of  a  small 
poor  nation,  living  among  barren  mountains,  surrounded  by 
powerful  enemies,  and  maintaining  its  independence  only  by 
the  most  inflexible  discipline,  watchfulness,  and  courage,  will 
be  in  some  degree  different  from  those  of  a  rich  people  re- 
moved from  all  fear  of  invasion  and  placed  in  the  centre  of 
commerce.  The  former  will  look  with  a  very  lenient  eye  on 
acts  of  barbarity  or  treachery,  whicli  to  the  latter  woilH 
appear  unspeakably  horrible,  and  will  value  very  highly 
certain  virtues  of  discipline  which  the  other  will  compara- 
tively neglect.  So,  too,  the  conceptions  of  beauty  formed  by 
a  nation  of  negroee  will  be  different  from  those  formed  by  a 
nation  of  whites ;  '  the  splendour  of  a  tropical  sky  or  the 
savage  grandeur  of  a  northern  ocean,  the  aspect  of  great 
mountains  or  of  wide  plains,  will  not  only  supply  nations  with 
present  images  of  sublimity  or  beauty,  but  will  also  contri- 
bute to  form  their  standard  and  affect  their  judgmentfi. 
Local  customs  or  observances  become  so  interwoven  with 
our  earliest  recollections,  that  we  at  last  regard  them  as  cs- 


'  M.  Ch.   Comte,   in   his   very  which  different  nations  have  made 

learned   Traite  de  Legislatio7i,  liv.  their  own  distinctive  peculiarities 

iii.  ch.  iv.,  has  made  an  extremely  of  colour  and  form   the   ideal    of 

curious  collection   of  instances  in  beaxify. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  81 

seutially  venerable,  and  even  in  the  most  trivial  matters  it 
requires  a  certain  effort  to  dissolve  the  association.     There 
was  much  wisdom  as  well  us  much  wit  in  the  picture  of  the 
novelist  who  described  the  English  footman's  contempt  for 
the  uniforms  of  the  French,  '  blue  being  altogether  ridiculous 
for  regimentals,  except  in  the  blue  guards  and  artillery  ;  * 
and  I  suppose  there  are  few   Englishmen  into  whose  first 
confused  impression  of  France  there  does  not  enter  a  half 
instinctive  feeling   of  repugnance    caused  by  the   ferocious 
appearance  of  a  peasantry  who  are  all  dressed  like  butchers.^ 
It  has  been  said  ^  that  '  the  feelings  of  beauty,  grandeur, 
and  whatever  else  is  comprehended  under  the  name  of  taste, 
do  not  lead  to  action,  but  terminate  in  delightful  contem- 
plation, which  constitutes  the  essential  distinction  between 
them  and  the  moral  sentiments  to  which  in  some  points  of 
view  they  may  doubtless  be  likened.'     This  position  I  con- 
ceive to  be  altogether  untenable.     Our  sesthetical  judgment  is 
of  the  nature  of  a  preference.     It  leads  us  to  prefer  one  class 
of  objects  to  another,  and  whenever  other  things  are  equal, 
becomes  a  ground  for  action.      In  choosing  the  persons  with 
whom  we  live,  the  neighbourhood  we  inhabit,  the  objects 
that  surroimd  us,  we  prefer  that  which  i?  beautiful  to  that 
which  is  the  reverse,  and  in  every  case  in  which  a  choice  be- 
tween beauty  and  deformity  is  in  question,  and  no  countei-- 
acting  motive  intervenes,  we  choose  the  former,  and  avoid 
the  latter.     There  are  no  doubt  innumerable  events  in  life  in 
which  this  question   does  not  arise,  but  there  are  also  very 
many  in  which  we  are  not  called  upon  to  make  a  moral 
judgment.     We  say  a  man  is  actuated  by  strong  moral  prin- 
ciple who  chooses  according  to    its  dictates  in    every  case 
involving  a  moral  judgment  that  comes  naturally  before  him, 


'  '  How    particularly   fine    the  sound  that  j)uts  you  in  mind  of 

hai'd  theta  is  in  our  English  termi-  nnthing  hut    n    loithsnme   toad.' — 

nations,  as  in  thatgrand  word  death,  Coleridge's  Table  Talk,  p.  181. 
for  which  the  Germans  gutturise  a  *  Mackintosh,  Dissert,  p.  238. 


^KsS- 


82  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

and  who  in  obedience  to  its  impulse  pursues  special  courses 
of  action.  Corresponding  propositions  may  be  maintained 
tv^ith  perfect  truth  concerning  our  sense  of  beauty.  In  pro- 
portion to  its  strength  does  it  guide  our  course  ir  ordinary 
life,  and  determine  our  peculiar  pursuits.  We  may  indeed 
sacrifice  our  sense  of  material  beauty  to  considerations  of 
utility  with  much  luore  alacrity  than  our  sense  of  moral 
beauty ;  we  may  consent  to  build  a  shapeless  house  sooner 
than  to  commit  a  dishonourable  action,  but  we  cannot  volun- 
tarily choose  that  which  is  simply  defoiTQed,  rather  than  that 
which  is  beautiful,  without  a  certain  feeling  of  pain,  and  a 
pain  of  this  kind,  according  to  the  school  of  Hartley,  is  the 
precise  definition  of  conscience.  Nor  is  it  at  all  difiicult  to 
conceive  men  with  a  sense  of  beauty  so  strong  that  they 
would  die  rather  than  outrage  it. 

Considering  all  these  things,  it  is  not  surprising  that  many 
moralists  should  have  regarded  moral  excellence  as  simply 
the  highest  form  of  beauty,  and  moral  cultivation  as  the 
supreme  refinement  of  taste.  But  although  this  manner  of 
regarding  it  is,  as  I  think,  far  more  plausible  than  the  theory 
which  resolves  virtue  into  utility,  although  the  Greek  moral- 
ists and  the  school  of  Shaftesbury  have  abundantly  proved 
that  there  is  an  extremely  close  connection  between  these 
orders  of  ideas,  there  are  two  considerations  which  appear  to 
show  the  inadequacy  of  this  theoiy.  We  are  clearly  conscious 
of  the  propriety  of  a])plying  the  epithet  '  beautiful  '  to  vii'tues 
such  as  charity,  reverence,  or  devotion,  but  we  cannot  apply 
it  with  the  same  propriety  to  duties  of  perfect  obligation, 
such  as  veracity  or  integrity.  The  sense  of  beauty  and  the 
affection  that  follows  it  attach  themselves  rather  to  modes  of 
enthusiasm  and  feeling  than  to  the  course  of  simple  duty 
which  constitutes  a  merely  truthful  and  upright  man.*  Be- 
sides this,  as  the  Stoics  and  Butler  have  shown,  the  position 


'  Lord  Xames'  Essai/s  on  Morality  (Ist  edition),  pp.  55-56. 


THE    >'ATCRAL    HISTORY    01    MORALS.  83 

af  conscience  in  our  nature  is  wholly  unique,  and  clearly 
separates  morals  from  a  study  of  the  beautiful.  While  each 
of  our  senses  or  appetites  has  a  restricted  sphere  of  operation, 
it  is  the  function  of  conscience  to  survey  the  whole  constitu- 
tion of  our  being,  and  assign  limits  to  the  gratification  of  all 
our  various  passions  and  desii'es.  Differing  not  in  degree, 
but  in  kind  from  the  other  principles  of  our  nature,  we  feel 
that  a  course  of  conduct  which  is  opposed  to  it  may  be  intel- 
ligibly described  as  unnatural,  even  when  in  accordance  with 
our  most  natural  appetites,  for  to  conscience  is  assigned  the 
prerogative  of  both  judging  and  restraining  them  all.  Its 
power  may  be  insignificant,  but  its  title  is  undisputed,  and 
'if  it  had  might  as  it  has  right,  it  would  govern  the  world. '^ 
It  is  this  faculty,  distinct  from,  and  superior  to,  all  appetites, 
passions,  and  tastes,  that  makes  virtue  the  supreme  law  of 
life,  and  adds  an  imperative  character  to  the  feeling  of  attrac- 
tion it  inspii^es.  It  is  this  which  was  described  by  Cicero  as 
the  God  ruling  within  us  ;  by  the  Stoics  as  the  sovereignty 
of  reason ;  by  St.  Paul  as  the  law  of  nature ;  by  Butler  as  the 
supremacy  of  conscience. 

The  distinction  of  difierent  parts  of  our  nature,  as  higher 
or  lower,  which  appears  in  the  foregoing  reasoning,  and 
which  occupies  so  important  a  place  in  the  intuitive  system 
of  morals,  is  one  that  can  only  be  defended  by  the  way  cf 
illustrations.  A  writer  can  only  select  cases  in  which  such 
distinctions  seem  most  apparent,  and  leave  them  to  the 
feelings  of  his  reader.  A  few  examples  will,  I  hope,  be  suffi- 
cient to  show  that  even  in  our  pleasures,  we  are  not  simply 
determined  by  the  amount  of  enjoyment,  but  that  there  is  a 
difference  of  kind,  which  may  be  reasonably  described  by  the 
epithets,  higher  or  lower. 

If  we  suppose  a  being  from  another  sphere,  who  deiived 
his  conceptions  from  a  purely  rational  process,  without  the 


See  Butler's  Three  Scr;no?is  on  Humon  Nature,  and  the  preface 


84  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

Lnteivention  of  the  senses,  to  descend  to  our  world,  and  to 
enquire  into  the  principles  of  human  nature,  I  imagine  there 
are  few  points  that  would  strike  him  as  more  anomalous,  or 
which  he  would  be  more  absolutely  unable  to  realise,  tLan 
the  different  estimates  in  which  men  hold  the  ple^aurca 
derived  from  the  two  senses  of  tasting  and  hearing.  Under 
the  first  is  comprised  the  enjoyment  resulting  from  the  action 
of  certain  kinds  of  food  upon  the  palate.  Under  the  second 
the  charm  of  music.  Each  of  these  forms  of  pleasure  is 
natural,  each  can  be  greatly  heightened  by  cultivation,  in 
each  case  the  pleasure  may  be  vivid,  but  is  very  transient, 
and  in  neither  case  do  evil  consequences  necessarily  ensue. 
Yet  with  so  many  undoubted  points  of  resemblance,  when 
we  turn  to  the  actual  world,  we  find  the  difference  between 
these  two  orders  of  pleasure  of  such  a  nature,  that  a  com- 
parison seems  absolutely  ludicrous.  In  what  then  does  this 
difference  consist?  Kot,  surely,  in  the  greater  intensity  of 
the  enjoyment  derived  from  music,  for  in  many  cases  this 
superiority  does  not  exist.  ^  We  are  all  conscious  that  in  our 
comparison  of  these  pleasures,  there  is  an  element  distinct 
from  any  consideration  of  their  intensity,  duration,  or  con- 
sequences. We  naturally  attach  a  faint  notion  of  shame  to 
the  one,  wliile  we  as  naturally  glory  in  tlie  other.  A  very 
keen  sense  of  the  pleasures  of  the  palate  is  looked  upon  as  in 
a  certain  degree  discreditable.  A  man  will  hardly  boast 
that  he  is  very  fond  of  eating,  but  he  has  no  hesitation  in 
acknowledging  that  he  is  very  fond  of  music.       The  first 


•  Speaking    of     the    animated  consequent  les  lui  fait  goute-r  avec 

statue  which  he  regarded  as  a  re-  plus  de  vivacite.     La  faim  pourra 

presentativeof  man,CondilIacsays,  la  rendre    malheureuse,  mais    des 

'Le  gout  pent  ordinairemf-nt  con-  quelle  aura  remarque  les  sensations 

tribuer    plus    que   I'odorat   a   son  propres  a  I'apaiser,  elle  y  determi- 

bonheur  et  a'sou  malheur.  .  .  .  II  nera  davantage  son  attention,  les 

y  contribue  meme  encore  plus  que  desirera  avec  plus  de  violence  et  on 

les  sons  harmonieux,  parce  que  le  jouira  avec  plus  de  delire.' — Traitt 

besoin  de  nourrture  lui  rend  les  des  Sensatio?is,  1"  parti e,  ch.  x. 
Baveurs    plus    necessaires,    et   par 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  8/) 

t'dsie  lowei's,  and  the  second  elevates  him  in  his  own  eyes, 
^nd  in  those  of  his  neighbours. 

Again,  let  a  man  of  cheerful  disposition,  and  of  a  cultivated 
but  not  rery  fastidious  taste,  observe  his  own  emotions  an  J 
the  countenances  of  those  around  him  during  the  represen- 
tation of  a  clever  tragedy  and  of  a  clever  farce,  and  it  is 
probable  that  he  will  come  to  the  conclusion  that  his  enjoy- 
ment in  the  latter  case  has  been  both  more  unmingled  and 
more  intense  than  in  the  former.  He  has  felt  no  lassitude, 
he  has  not  endured  the  amount  of  pain  that  necessarily  ac- 
companies the  pleasure  of  pathos,  he  has  experienced  a  vivid, 
absorbing  pleasure,  and  he  has  traced  similar  emotions  in 
the  violent  demonstrations  of  his  neighbours.  Yet  he  will 
readily  admit  that  the  pleasure  derived  from  the  tiugedy  is  of 
a  higher  order  than  that  derived  from  the  farce.  Sometimes 
he  will  find  himself  hesitating  which  of  the  two  he  will 
choose.  The  love  of  mere  enjoyment  leads  him  to  the  one. 
A  sense  of  its  nobler  character  inclines  him  to  the  other. 

A  similar  distinction  may  be  observed  in  other  depart- 
ments. Except  in  the  relation  of  the  sexes,  it  is  probable 
that  a  more  intense  pleasure  is  usually  obtained  from  the 
grotesque  and  the  eccentric,  than  from  the  perfections  of 
beauty.  The  pleasure  derived  from  beauty  is  not  violent  in 
its  nature,  and  it  is  in  most  cases  peculiarly  mixed  with 
melancholy.  The  feelings  of  a  man  who  is  deeply  moved  by 
a  lovely  landscape  are  rarely  those  of  extreme  elation.  A 
shade  of  melancholy  steals  over  his  mind.  His  eyes  fill  with 
tears.  A  vague  and  unsatisfied  longing  fills  his  soul.  Yet, 
ti'oubled  and  broken  as  is  this  form  of  enjoyment,  few  persona 
would  hesitate  to  pronounce  it  of  a  higher  kind  than  any 
that  can  be  derived  from  the  exhibitions  of  oddity. 

If  pleasures  were  the  sole  objects  of  our  pursuit,  and  if 
their  excellence  were  measured  only  by  the  quantity  of  enjoy- 
ment they  afibrd,  nothing  could  appear  more  obvious  than 
that    the   man  would  be  esteemed  most  wise  who  attained 


86  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

his  oly'ect  at  least  cost.  Yet  the  whole  course  of  civilisation 
is  in  a  precisely  opposite  direction.  A  child  derires  the 
keenest  and  most  exquisite  enjoyment  from  the  simplest 
objects.  A  flower,  a  doll,  a  rude  game,  the  least  artistic 
tale,  is  sufficient  to  enchant  it.  An  uneducated  peasant  is 
cm-aptured  wdth  the  wildest  story  and  the  coarsest  wit.  In- 
creased cultivation  almost  always  produces  a  fastidiousness 
which  renders  necessary  the  increased  elaboration  of  our 
pleasures.  "We  attach  a  certain  discredit  to  a  man  who  has 
retained  those  of  childhood.  The  very  fact  of  our  deriving 
pleasure  from  certain  amusements  creates  a  kind  of  humilia- 
tion, for  we  feel  that  they  are  not  in  harmony  with  the 
nobility  of  om'  nature,  ^ 

Our  judgments  of  societies  resemble  in  this  respect  our 
judc'ments  of  indi^dduals.  Few  pereons,  I  tliink,  who  have 
compared  the  modes  of  popular  life  in  stagnant  and  unde- 
veloped countries  like  Spain  with  those  in  the  great  centres 
of  industrial  civilisation,  will  venture  to  pronounce  with  any 
confidence  that  the  quantum  or  average  of  actual  realised 
enjoyment  is  greater  in  the  civilised  than  in  the  semi-civilised 
society.  An  undeveloped  nature  is  by  no  means  necessarily 
an  unhappy  nature,  and  although  we  possess  no  accurate 
gauge  of  happiness,  we  may,  at  least,  be  certain  that  its 
deoi-ees  do  not  coincide  with  the  degi-ees  of  prosperity.  The 
tastes  and  habits  of  men  in  a  backward  society  accommodate 
themselves  to  the  nan*ow  cii^cle  of  a  few  pleasures,  and  pro- 


•  This  is  one  of  the  favourite  de  ses  miseres  effectives.  .  .  .  D'ou 

thoushts  of  Pascal,  who,  however,  vient  que  cet  homme,  qui  a  penlu 

in  his  usual  fashion  dwells  upon  it  depuis  peu  son  fils  unique,  et  qui, 

in  a  somewhat  morhid  and  exagge-  accable  de  proems  ct  de  querelles. 

rnted  strain.  '  C'estunehien  grande  etair  ce  matin  si  trouble,  n'y  pense 

misere    que    de    pouvoir    prendre  plusmaintcnant?    Ne  vous  en  eion- 

plaisir  a  des  choses  si  basses  et  si  nez  pas;  il  est  tout  occiipe  a  voir 

meprisables.  ..  rhomme  est  encore  p^r   ou   passera   un    cerf  que   sos 

plus  a  plaindre  de  ce  qu'il  pent  se  ohiens  poursuivent.  .  .  .  C'est  uus 

divertir  a  e^s  choses  si  frivoles  et  joie  de  malade  et  de  frenet'que.'^ 

bI  basses,  que  de  ce  qu'il  s'afBige  Pensees  (Misere  de  rhomme). 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  87 

bal>ly  find  in  these  ns  complete  satisfaction  as  more  civilise<i 
men  in  a  wider  range  ;  and  if  there  i^  in  the  first  condition 
somewhat  more  of  the  weariness  of  monotony,  there  is  in  tlie 
second  much  more  of  the  anxiety  of  discontent.  The  supe- 
riority of  a  highly  civilised  man  lies  chiefly  in  the  fact  that 
he  belongs  to  a  higher  order  of  being,  for  he  has  approached 
more  nearly  to  the  end  of  his  existence,  and  has  called  into 
action  a  larger  number  of  his  capacities.  And  this  is  in  itself 
an  end.  Even  if,  as  is  not  improbable,  the  lower  animals 
are  happier  than  man,'  and  semi -barbarians  than  civilised 
men,  still  it  is  better  to  be  a  man  than  a  brute,  better  to  be 
born  amid  the  fierce  struggles  of  civilisation  than  in  some 
stranded  nation  apart  from  all  the  flow  of  enterprise  and 
knowledge.  Even  in  that  material  civilisation  which  utili- 
tarianism delights  to  glorify,  there  is  an  element  which  the 
philosophy  of  mere  enjoyment  cannot  explain. 

Again,  if  we  ask  the  reason  of  the  vast  and  indisputable 
superiority  which  the  general  voice  of  mankind  gives  to 
mental  pleasures,  considered  as  pleasures,  over  physical  ones, 
we  shall  find,  I  think,  no  adequate  or  satisfactory  answer  on 
the  supposition  that  pleasures  owe  all  their  value  to  the 
quantity  of  enjoyment  they  aflTord.  The  former,  it  is  truly 
said,  are  more  varied  and  more  prolonged  than  the  latter 
but  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  attained  with  more  effort, 
and  they  are  diffused  over  a  far  narrower  circle.  No  one 
who  compares  the  class  of  men  who  derive  their  pleasure 
chiefly  from  field  sports  or  other  forms  of  physical  enjoyment 
with  those  who  derive  their  pleasure  from  the  highest  in- 
tellectual sources;  no  one  who  compares  the  period  of 
boyhood  when   enjoyments    are    chiefly  animal   with  early 


'   '  Quae    singula     improvidara  est,  in  quo  sponte  naturae  benigni 

mortalitatem  involvunt,  solum  ut  tas  sufficit :  uno  quidem  vel  prse 

-nter   ista   certum    sit,    nihil    esse  ff^renda    cunctis    bonis,   quod    da 

certi,  uec  miserius   quidquam  ho-  gloria,  de  pecunia,  ambitione,  su- 

luino,     aut     superbius.        Cseteris  perqne  de  morte,  non  cogitant.'— 

qnippe  animantium  sola  rictus  cura  Plin.  Hist.  Nat.  ii.  5. 


88  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

aianliood  when  they  are  chiefly  intellectual,  will  be  able  t^ 
discover  in  the  different  levels  of  happiness  any  justification 
of  the  great  interval  the  world  places  between  these  plea- 
sures. No  painter  or  novelist,  who  wished  to  depict  an  ideal 
of  perfect  happiness,  would  seek  it  in  a  profound  student. 
Without  entering  into  any  doubtful  questions  concerning  the 
relations  of  the  body  to  all  mental  states,  it  may  he  main- 
tained that  bodily  conditions  have  in  general  more  influence 
upon  our  enjoyment  than  mental  ones.  The  happiness  of  the 
great  majority  of  men  is  far  more  afiected  by  health  and  by 
temperament,^  resulting  from  physical  conditions,  which 
again  physical  enjoyments  are  often  calculated  to  produce, 
than  by  any  mental  or  moral  causes,  and  acute  physical 
sufierings  paralyse  all  the  energies  of  our  nature  to  a  greater 
extent  than  any  mental  distress.  It  is  probable  that  the 
American  inventor  of  the  first  ansesthetic  has  done  more  for 
the  real  happiness  of  mankind  than  all  the  moral  philo- 
sophers from  Socrates  to  Mill.  Moral  causes  may  teach  men 
patience,  and  the  endurance  of  felt  suflering,  or  may  even 
alleviate  its  pangs,  but  there  are  temperaments  due  to  phy- 

^  Paley,  in  his  very  ingenious,  dent  of  any  particular  outward  gra- 

and   in    some  respecrs  adm.rable,  tification.  .  .  .  This  is   an    enjoy- 

chapter  on  happiness  tries  to  prove  ment  which  the  Deity  has  annexed 

the  inferiority  of  animal  pleasures,  to  life,  and  probably  constitutes  in 

by  showing  the  sb.ort  time    tlieir  a  great  measure  the  happiness  of 

enjoyment  actually  lasts,   the  ex-  infants  and  brutes  .  .  .  of  oysters, 

tent  to  which  they  are  dulled  by  periwinkles,    and    the    like ;     for 

repetition,  and  the  cases  in  which  which  1  have  sometimes  been  at  a 

they  incapacitate   men    for   other  loss  to   find   out  amusement.'     On 

pleasures.      But   this    calculation  the  test  of  happiness  he  very  fairly 

omits  the  influence  of  some  animal  says,  '  All  that  can  be  said  is  thnt 

enjoyments  upon  health  and  tem-  there   remains   a   presumption    in 

perament.       The     fa^t,    however;  favour  of  those  conditions  of  life  in 

that  health,  which  is  a  condition  which  men  generally  appear  most 

ot    body,    is   the    chief    source   of  cheerful  and  contented ;  f<jr  though 

happiness,     Paley     fully    admits,  the  apparent  happiness  of  mankind 

•  Health,' he  says,  '  is  the  one  thing  be  not  always  a  true  measure  oi 

needful    ....    when  we  are   in  their  real  happiness,  it  is  the  best 

perfect  health  and  spirits,  we  feel  measure  we  have.' — Moral  Philoso 

m  ourselves  a  happiness  indepen-  }>ht/,  i.  6. 


THE    NATURAL    HI:?TORY    OF    Mv^RALS.  3D 

sical  causes  from  which  most  sufferings  glance  almost  unfelt. 
It  is  said  that  when  an  ancient  was  asked  '  what  use  is 
philosophy'? '  he  answered,  'it  teaches  men  how  to  die,'  and  he 
verified  his  words  by  a  noble  death ;  but  it  has  been  proved 
on  a  thousand  battle-fields,  it  has  been  proved  on  a  thousand 
scaffolds,  it  is  proved  through  all  the  wide  regions  of  China 
and  India,  that  the  dull  and  animal  nature  which  feels  little 
and  realises  faintly,  can  meet  death  with  a  calm  that  phi- 
losophy can  barely  rival.  ^  The  truth  is,  that  the  mental 
part  of  our  nature  is  not  regarded  as  superior  to  the  physical 
part,  because  it  contributes  most  to  our  happiness.  The 
superiority  is  of  a  different  kind,  and  may  be  intelligibly 
expressed  by  the  epithets  higher  and  lower. 

And,  once  more,  there  is  a  class  of  pleasures  resulting 
from  the  gratification  of  our  moral  feelings  which  we  na- 
turally place  in  the  foremost  rank.  To  the  great  majority 
of  mankind  it  will  probably  appear,  in  spite  of  the  doctrine 
of  Paley,  that  no  multiple  of  the  pleasure  of  eating  pastry 
can  be  an  equivalent  to  the  pleasure  derived  from  a  generous 
action.  It  is  not  that  the  latter  is  so  inconceivably  intense. 
It  is  that  it  is  of  a  higher  order. 

This  distiQction  of  kind  has  been  neglected  or  denied  by 
most  utilitarian  writers ;  ^  and  although  an  attempt  has  re- 


'  A  writer  who  devoted  a  great  qu'on  est  plus  libra  des  innombra- 
part  of  his  life  to  studying  the  bleb  liens  de  la  civilisation.'  Lau- 
deaths  of  men  in  different  conn-  vorgne,  De  I'agonie  de  la  Mart, 
tries,  classes,  and  churches,  and  to  tome  i.  pp.  131-132. 
collecting  from  other  physicians  ^  » j  ^yj^i  omJt  much  usual  do- 
information  on  the  subject,  says:  clamation  upon  the  dignity  and 
'Amesure  qu'on  s'eloigne  des  grands  capacity  of  our  nature,  the  superi- 
foyers  de  civilisation,  qu"ou  se  rap-  ority  of  the  soul  to  the  body,  of  the 
proche  des  plaines  et  des  mon-  rational  to  the  animal  part  of  our 
tagnes,  le  caractere  de  la  mort  constitution,  upon  the  worthiness, 
prend  de  plus  en  plus  Taspect  refinement,  and  delicacy  of  some 
calme  du  ciel  par  un  beau  crepus-  satisfactions,  or  the  meanness, 
cule  du  soir.  .  .  .  En  general  la  grossness,  and  sensuality  of  others; 
mort  s'accomplit  d'une  maniere  because  I  hold  that  pleasures  differ 
d'autaut  plus  simple  et   naturelle  in  nothing  but  in  continuance  and 


00 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAI.S. 


cently  been  made  to  introduce  it  ill  to  the  system,  it  appears 
manifestly  incompatible  with  its  principle.  If  the  reality  of 
the  distinction  be  admitted,  it  shows  that  our  wills  are  so  far 
from  tending  necessarily  to  that  which  produces  most  enjoy- 
ment that  we  have  the  power  even  in  our  pleasures  of  recog- 
nising a  higher  and  a  wholly  different  quali  y,  and  of  making 
that  quality  rather  than  enjoyment  the  object  of  oiu*  choice. 
If  it  be  possible  for  a  man  in  choosing  between  two  pleasui'es 
deliberately  to  se'ect  as  preferable,  apart  from  all  consideration 
of  consequences,  that  which  he  is  conscious  gives  least  enjoy- 


intensity.' — Paley's  Moral  Philoso- 
'phy,  book  i.  ch.  vi.  Bentham  in 
like  manner  said,  '  Quantity  of 
pleasui'e  being  equal,  pushpin  is  as 
good  as  poetry,'  and  he  maintained 
that  the  value  of  a  pleasure  de- 
pends on — its  (1)  intensity,  (2) 
duration,  (3)  certainty,  (4)  propin- 
quity, (o)  purity,  (6)  fecundity,  (7) 
extent  {Springs  of  Avtion).  The 
recognition  of  the  '  purity '  of  a 
pleasure  might  seem  to  imply  the 
distinction  for  \vhich  I  have  con- 
tended in  the  text,  but  this  is  not 
so.  The  purity  of  a  pleasure  or 
pain,  according  to  Bentham,  is  '  the 
chance  it  has  of  not  being  followed 
by  sensations  of  the  opposite  kind  : 
that  is  pain  if  it  be  a  pleasure, 
pleasure  if  it  be  a  pain.'  -Morals 
and  Legislation,  i.  §  8.  Mr.  Buckle 
(Hist,  of  CivUisation,\o\.  ii.  pp.  399 
-400)  writes  in  a  somewhat  similar 
strain,  but  less  unequivocally,  fjr 
he  admits  that  mental  pleasures 
are  '  more  ennobling '  than  physical 
ones.  The  older  utilitarians,  as  far 
as  I  have  observed,  did  not  even 
advert  to  the  question.  This  being 
the  case,  it  must  have  been  a  mat- 
ter of  surprise  as  well  as  of  grati- 
fication to  most  intuitive  moralists 
to  find  Mr.  IMill  fully  recognising 
ihe  <4xistence  of  different  kinds  of 


pleasure,  and  admitting  that  the 
superiority  of  the  higher  kinds 
does  not  spring  from  their  being 
greater  in  amount. —  Utilitarian- 
ism, pp.  11-12.  if  it  be  meant  by 
this  that  we  have  the  power  of 
recognising  some  pleasures  as 
superior  to  others  in  kind,  irre- 
spective of  all  consideration  of 
their  intensity,  their  cost,  and 
their  consequences,  I  submit  that 
the  admission  is  completely  incom- 
patible with  the  utilitarian  theory, 
and  that  Mr.  Mill  has  only  suc- 
ceeded in  introducing  Stoical  ele- 
ments into  his  system  by  loosening 
its  very  foundation.  The  impossi- 
bility of  establishing;  an  aristocracy 
of  enjoyments  in  which,  apart  from 
all  considerations  of  consequences, 
some  which  give  less  pleasure  and 
are  less  widely  diffused  are  re- 
garded as  intrijisicaliy  superior  to 
others  which  give  more  pleasitre 
and  are  more  general,  without 
admitting  into  our  estimate  a  moral 
element,  which  on  utilitarian  prin- 
ciples is  wholly  illegitimate,  has 
been  powerfully  shown  since  the 
first  edition  of  this  book  by  Pro- 
fessor Grote,  in  his  Examination 
of  the  Utilitarian  Philosophy,  chap 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  91 

ment  because  he  recognises  in  it  a  greater  worthiness,  or 
elevation,  it  is  certain  that  his  conduct  is  either  wholly  irra 
tional,  or  that  he  is  acting  on  a  principle  of  judgment  for 
which  '  the  greatest  happiness '  philosophy  is  unable  to 
account.  Consistently  with  that  philosophy,  the  terms 
higher  and  lower  as  applied  to  different  parts  of  our  nature, 
to  different  regions  of  thought  or  feeling,  can  have  no  other 
meaning  than  that  of  productive  of  more  or  less  enjoyment. 
But  if  once  we  admit  a  distinction  of  quality  as  well  as  a 
distinction  of  quantity  in  our  estimate  of  pleasure,  aU  is 
changed.  It  then  appe;irs  evident  that  the  different  parts 
of  our  nature  to  which  these  pleasures  refer,  bear  to  each 
other  a  relation  of  another  kind,  which  may  be  clearly  and 
justly  described  by  the  terms  higher  and  lower;  and  the 
assertion  that  our  reason  reveals  to  us  intuitively  and  directly 
this  hierarchy  of  our  being,  is  a  fundamental  position  of  the 
greatest  schools  of  intuitive  moralists.  According  to  these 
writers,  when  we  say  that  our  moral  and  intellectual  is 
su])erior  to  our  animal  nature,  that  the  benevolent  affections 
are  superior  to  the  selfish  ones,  that  conscience  has  a  legiti- 
mate supremacy  over  the  other  parts  of  our  being ;  this 
language  is  not  arbitrary,  or  fantastic,  or  capricious,  because 
it  is  intelligible.  When  such  a  subordination  is  announced, 
it  corresponds  with  feelings  we  all  possess,  falls  in  with  the 
natural  course  of  our  judgments,  with  our  habitual  and  un- 
studied language. 

The  arguments  that  have  been  directed  against  the 
theory  of  natural  moral  perceptions  are  of  two  kinds,  the 
first,  which  I  have  already  noticed,  being  designed  to  show 
that  all  our  moral  judgments  may  be  resolved  into  considera- 
tions of  utility  ;  the  second  resting  upon  the  diversity  of  these 
judgments  in  different  nations  and  stages  of  civilisation,  which, 
it  is  said,  is  altogether  inexplicable  upon  the  supposition  of  a 
moral  faculty.  As  these  variations  form  the  great  stumbling- 
block  in  the  way  of  the  doctrine  T  am  maintaining,  and  as  they 


92  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

coDstitute  a  very  important  part  of  the  liistory  of  morals,  1 
shall  make  no  apology  for  noticing  them  in  some  detail. 

In  the  first  place,  there  are  many  cases  in  which  diver- 
sities of  moral  judgment  arise  from  causes  that  are  net 
moral,  but  purely  intellectual.  Thus,  for  example,  when 
theologians  pronounced  loans  at  interest  contrary  to  the  law 
of  nature  and  plainly  extortionate,  this  error  obviously  arose 
from  a  false  notion  of  the  uses  of  money.  They  believed 
that  it  was  a  sterile  thing,  and  that  he  who  has  restored 
what  he  boiTOwed,  has  cancelled  all  the  benefit  he  received 
from  the  transaction.  At  the  time  when  the  first  Christian 
moralists  treated  the  subject,  special  circumstances  had  ren- 
dered the  rate  of  interest  extremely  high,  and  consequently 
extremely  oppressive  to  the  poor,  and  this  fact,  no  doubt, 
strengthened  the  prejudice ;  but  the  root  of  the  condemna- 
tion of  usury  was  simply  an  error  in  political  economy. 
When  men  came  to  understand  that  money  is  a  productive 
thing,  and  that  the  sum  lent  enables  the  borrower  to  create 
sources  of  weRlth  that  will  continue  when  the  loan  has  been 
retui-ned,  they  pei'ceived  that  there  was  no  natural  injustice 
in  exacting  payment  for  this  advantage,  and  usury  either 
ceased  to  be  assailed,  or  was  assailed  only  upon  the  ground 
of  positive  commands. 

Thus  again  the  question  of  the  criminality  of  abortion 
has  been  considerably  affected  by  physiological  speculations 
as  to  the  time  when  the  foetus  in  the  womb  acquiies  the 
nature,  and  therefore  the  rights,  of  a  separate  being.  The 
general  opinion  among  the  ancients  seems  to  have  been  that 
it  was  but  a  part  of  the  mother,  and  that  she  ha<i  the  same 
light  to  destroy  it  as  to  cauterise  a  tumour  upon  her  body. 
Plato  and  Aristotle  both  admitted  the  practice.  The  Roman 
law  contained  no  enactment  against  voluntary  abortion  till  the 
time  of  Ulpian.  The  Stoics  thought  that  the  infant  received 
its  soul  when  respiration  began.  The  Justinian  code  fixed 
its  animation  at  forty  days  after  conception.     In  modem 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  93 

legislations  it  is  treated  as  a  distinct  being  from  the  moment 
of  conception. '  It  is  obAdous  that  the  solution  of  snch  ques- 
tions, though  affectiag  our  moral  judgments,  must  he  sought 
entirely  outside  the  range  of  moral  feelings. 

In  the  next  place,  there  is  a  broad  distinction  to  be 
d'awn  between  duties  which  rest  immediately  on  the  dictates 
cf  conscience,  and  those  which  are  based  upon  positive  com- 
mands. The  iniquity  of  theft,  murjer,  falsehood,  or  adultery 
rests  upon  grounds  generically  di&tinct  from  those  on  which 
men  pronounce  it  to  be  sinful  zo  eat  meat  on  Friday,  or  to 
work  on  Sunday,  or  to  abstain  from  religious  assemblies. 
The  reproaches  conscience  directs  against  those  who  are 
guilty  of  these  last  acts  are  purely  hypothetical,  conscience 
enjoining  obedience  to  the  Divine  commands,  but  leaving  it 
to  reason  to  determine  what  those  commands  may  be.  The 
distinction  between  these  two  classes  of  duties  becomes  ap- 
parent on  the  slightest  reflection,  and  the  variations  in  their 
relative  prominence  form  one  of  the  most  important  branches 
of  religious  history. 

Closely  connected  with  the  preceding  are  the  diversities 
which  result  from  an  ancient  custom  becoming  at  last, 
through  its  very  antiquity,  or  through  the  confusion  of 
means  with  ends,  an  object  of  religious  reverence.  Among 
the  many  safeguards  of  female  purity  in  the  Roman  republic 
was  an  enactment  forbidding  women  even  to  taste  wine,  and 
this  very  intelligible  law  being  enforced  with  the  earliest 
education,  became  at  last,  by  habit  and  traditionary  reve- 
rence, so  incorporated  with  the  moral  feelings  of  the  people, 
that  its  violation  was  spoken  of  as  a  monstrous  crime.  Aulua 
Gellius  has  preserved  a  passage  in  which  Cato  observes, 
*  that  the  husband  has  an  absolute  authority  over  bis  wife ; 
ii  is  for  him  to  condemn  and  punish  her,  if  she  has  been 


Biichner,  Force  et  Matiere,  pp.  ancient  philosophers  on  this  sub- 
163-164.  There  is  a  very  curious  ject  in  Pluterch's  treatise,  De  Pla- 
ccUection  of  the  speculations  of  the     citis  Philos. 


94  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

guilty  of  any  shameful  act,  such  as  drinking  wine  or  cojQ' 
mifcting  adultery.'^  As  soon  as  the  reverence  for  tradition 
was  diminished,  and  men  ventured  to  judge  old  customs  upoji 
their  own  merits,  they  were  able,  by  steadily  reflecting  upon 
this  beKef,  to  reduce  it  to  its  primitive  elements,  to  separate* 
the  act  from  the  ideas  with  which  it  had  been  associated, 
and  thus  to  perceive  that  it  was  not  necessaiily  opposed  to 
any  of  those  great  moral  laws  or  feelings  which  their  con- 
sciences revealed,  and  which  were  the  basis  of  all  their 
reasonings  on  morals. 

A  confused  association  of  ideas,  which  is  easily  exposed 
by  a  patient  analysis,  lies  at  the  root  of  more  serious  anoma- 
lies. Thus  to  those  who  reflect  deeply  upon  moral  history, 
few  things,  I  suppose,  are  more  humiliating  tlian  to  contrast 
the  admiration  and  profoundly  reverential  attachment  excited 
by  a  conqueror,  who  through  the  promiDtings  of  simple 
vanity,  through  love  of  fame,  or  through  greed  of  territory, 
has  wantonly  caused  the  deaths,  the  sufierings,  or  the  bf>- 


'  Aulus  Gelliiis,  Nodes,  x.  23.  Fatua,  \f\\o  wis  famous  for  her 
The  law  is  given  by  Dion.  Halicarn.  modesty  and  fidelity  to  her  hus- 
Valerius  IVLiximus  says,  '  Vini  usus  band,  but  ^vho,  unfortunately,  hav 
dim  Romanis  feminis  ignotus  fait,  ing  once  found  a  cask  of  ^vine  in  the 
ne  scilicet  in  aliquod  dedecus  pro-  house,  got  drunk,  and  was  in  con- 
laberentur  :  qiiia'proximus  aLibero  sequence  scourged  to  death  by  her 
patre  intemperantiae  gradus  ad  husband.  He  aft.  rwards  repented 
inconcessam  Veiierem  esse  consue-  of  his  act,  and  paid  divine  honours 
vit'  (Val.  Max.  ii.  1,  §  5).  This  is  to  her  memory,  and  as  a  memorial 
also  noticed  by  Pliny  {Hist.  Nat.  of  her  death,  a  cask  of  wine  wa.s 
xiv.  14),  who  ascribes  the  law  to  always  placed  upon  the  altar 
Romulus,  and  who  mentions  two  during  the  rites  (Lactantius,  Div. 
cases  in  which  women  were  said  to  Inst.  i.  22.)  The  Milesians,  also, 
have  been  put  to  death  iov  this  and  the  inhabitants  of  Marseilles 
offence,  and  a  third  in  which  the  are  said  to  have  had  laws  forbid- 
off.nder  was  depriredof  her  doMTV.  d'ng  women  to  drink  wine  (^lian, 
(Jatc  sa-d  that  the  anci(-nt  Romans  Hist.  Var.  i\.  38).  TertuUian  de- 
were  accustomed  to  kiss  their  wives  scribes  the  prohibition  of  wine 
for  the  purpose  of  discovering  among  the  Roman  ^vomen  as  in  his 
whether  they  had  been  drinking  time  obsolete,  and  a  taste  for  it 
wine.  The  Bona  Dea,  it  is  said,  was  one  of  the  great  trials  of  St 
was    originally   a   woman    named  Monica  (Aug.  Conf.  x,  8). 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  95 

reaveracuts  of  thousands,  with  the  abhorrence  produced  by  a 
single  act  of  murder  or  robbery  committed  by  a  poor  and 
ignorant  man,  perhaps  under  the  pressure  of  extreme  want 
or  intolerable  wrong.  The  attraction  of  genius  and  power, 
which  the  vulgar  usually  measure  by  their  material  fruits, 
the  advantages  acquired  by  the  nation  to  which  he  belong?*,^ 
the  belief  that  battles  are  decided  by  providential  inter- 
ference, and  that  military  success  is  therefore  a  proof  of 
Divine  favour,  and  the  sanctity  ascribed  to  the  regal  office, 
have  all  no  doubt  conspired  to  veil  the  atrocity  of  the 
conqueror's  career ;  but  there  is  probably  another  and  a 
deeper  influence  behind.  That  which  invests  war,  in  spite 
of  all  the  evils  that  attend  it,  with  a  certain  moral  grandeur, 
is  the  heroic  self-sacrifice  it  elicits.  With  perhaps  the  single 
exception  of  the  Church,  it  is  the  sphere  in  which  meicenaiy 
motives  have  least  sway,  in  which  performance  is  least 
weighed  and  measured  by  strict  obligation,  in  which  a  dis- 
interested enthusiasm  has  most  scope.  A  battle-field  is  the 
scene  of  deeds  of  self-sacrifice  so  transcendent,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  dramatic,  that  in  spite  of  all  its  horrors  and 
crimes,  it  awakens  the  most  ]jassionate  moral  enthusiasm. 
But  this  feeling  produced  by  the  thought  of  so  many  who 
have  sacrificed  their  life-blood  for  their  flag  or  for  their 
chief,  needs  some  definite  oliject  on  which  to  rest.  The  mul- 
titude of  nameless  combatants  do  not  strike  the  imagination. 
They  do  not  stand  out,  and  are  not  realised,  as  distinct 
and  living  figures  conspicuous  to  the  view.  Hence  it  is  that 
the  chief,  as  the  most  prominent,  becomes  the  rejiresentative 
wan-ior ;  the  martyr's  aureole  descends  upon  his  brow,  and 
thus  by  a  confusion  that  seems  the  very  irony  of  fate,  the 
enthusiRsm  evoked  by  the  self-saci-ifit-e  of  thousands  sheds  a 
sacred  glow  around  the  very  man  whose  prodigious  egotii'in 
had  rendered  that  sacrifice  necessary. 

Another  form  of  moral  paradox  is  derived  from  the  fact 
that  positive  religions  may  override  our  moral  perceptions  in 


96  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS 

such  a  manner,  that  we  may  conscionsly  admit  a  moral  c(jii 
tradictiou.  In  this  respect  there  is  a  strict  parallelism 
between  our  intellectual  and  our  moral  faculties.  It  is  at 
present  the  professed  belief  of  at  least  three-fouii;h.s  of  the 
Christian  Church,  and  was  for  some  centuries  the  firm  })olicf 
of  the  entire  Church,  that  on  a  certaiji  night  the  Founder  of 
the  Christian  fa,ith,  being  seated  at  a  supper  table,  Iiold  His 
own  body  in  His  own  hand,  broke  that  body,  distributed  it 
to  His  disciplas,  who  proceeded  to  eat  it,  the  same  body  re- 
maining at  the  same  moment  seated  intact  at  the  table,  and 
soon  afterwards  proceeding  to  tbe  garden  of  Gethsemanc. 
The  fact  of  such  a  doctrine  being  believed,  does  not  imply 
that  the  faculties  of  those  who  hold  it  are  of  such  a  nature 
that  they  perceive  no  contradiction  or  natural  absurdity  in 
these  statements.  Th(i  well-known  argument  derived  from 
the  obscurity  of  the  metaphysical  notion  of  substance  is 
intended  only  in  some  slight  degree  to  soften  the  difficulty. 
The  contradiction  is  clearly  perceived,  but  it  is  accepted  by 
faith  as  part  of  the  teaching  of  the  Church. 

What  ti'ansubstantiation  is  in  the  order  of  reason  the 
A  ugustinian  doctrine  of  the  damnation  of  unbaptised  infants, 
and  the  Calvinistic  doctrine  of  reprobation,  are  in  the  order 
of  morals.  Of  these  doctrines  it  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that 
in  the  form  in  which  they  have  often  been  stated,  they  sur- 
pass in  atrocity  any  tenets  that  have  ever  been  admitted  into 
any  pagan  creed,  and  would,  if  they  formed  an  essential  part 
of  Chiistianity,  amply  justify  the  term  'pernicious  snper- 
Tstition,'  which  Tacitus  applied  to  the  faith.  That  a  little 
cliild  ^\'ho  lives  but  a  few  moments  after  birth  and  dies 
Itofore  it  has  been  sprinkled  with  the  sacred  water  is  in  such 
a  sense  responsible  for  its  ancestors  having  6,000  years  before 
eaten  some  forbidden  fruit  that  it  may  with  perfect  j  iistice  Le 
resuscitated  and  cast  into  an  abyss  of  eternal  fii-e  in  expiation 
of  tlds  ancestral  crime,  that  an  all-righteous  and  all-mercifui 
Creator  in  the  full  exercise  of  those  attributes  deliberately 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  97 

ealls  into  existence  sentient  beings  whom  He  lias  from  eter- 
nity iiTevocably  destined  to  endless,  unspeakable,  unmitigated 
toi  ture,  are  propositions  which  are  at  once  so  extravagantly 
absurd  and  so  inefiably  atrocious  that  their  adoption  might 
well  lead  men  to  doubt  the  universality  of  moral  perceptions. 
S  ich  teaching  is  in  fact  simply  daemonism,  and  dtemonism  in 
its  most  extreme  form.  It  attributes  to  the  Creator  acts  of 
injustice  and  of  barbarity,  wliich  it  would  be  absolutely  im- 
l)Ossib!e  for  the  imagination  to  surpass,  acts  before  which  the 
most  monstrous  excesses  of  human  cruelty  dwindle  into 
insignificance,  acts  which  are  in  fact  considei-ably  worse  than 
any  that  theologians  have  attributed  to  the  devil.  If  there 
were  men  who  while  vividly  realising  the  nature  of  these 
acts  natui-ally  turned  to  them  as  the  exhibitions  of  perfect 
goodness,  all  systems  of  ethics  founded  upon  innate  moral 
perceptions  would  be  false.  But  happily  this  is  not  so. 
Those  who  embrace  these  doctrines  do  so  only  because  they 
be'ieve  that  some  inspued  Church  or  writer  has  taught  them, 
and  because  they  are  still  in  that  stage  in  which  men  con- 
sider it  more  irreligious  to  question  the  infallibility  of  an 
apostle  than  to  disfigure  l)y  any  conceivable  imputation 
the  chai*acter  of  the  Deity.  They  accordingly  esteem  it  a 
matter  of  duty,  and  a  commendable  exercise  of  humility,  to 
siifle  the  moral  feelings  of  their  nature,  and  they  at  last  suc- 
ceed ill  persuading  themselves  that  their  Divinity  would  be 
extremely  oftended  if  they  hesitated  to  ascribe  to  him  the 
attributes  of  a  fiend.  But  their  moral  feelings,  though  not 
unimpaired  by  such  conceptions,  are  not  on  ordinary  subject^s 
generically  different  from  those  of  theii-  neighbours.  With 
an  amiable  inconsistency  they  can  even  find  something  to 
revolt  them  in  the  lives  of  a  Caligula  or  a  Nero.  Theii'  theo- 
iOgical  estimate  of  justice  and  mercy  is  isolated.  Their 
doci  line  is  accepted  as  a  kind  of  moral  miracle,  and  as  is 
customary  with  a  cei'tain  school  of  theologians,  wlien  they 


5^8  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

/ 

^enanciate  a  proposition  wMcli  ia  palpably  self-con tradictoi^ 
thoy  call  it  a  mystery  and  an  occasion  for  faith. 

In  th.:s  instance  a  distinct  moral  conti-ad'ciion  is  con- 
gcious'y  admitted.  In  the  case  of  perseciifon,  a  strictly 
moral  and  logical  inference  is  drawn  from  a  very  immoral 
Droposition  which  is  accepted  as  part  of  a  system  of  dogmatic 
theology.  The  two  elements  that  should  be  considered  in 
punishing  a  criminal  are  the  heinousness  of  his  guilt  and  the 
injury  he  inflicts.  When  the  greatest  guilt  and  the  gi-eate.st 
injury  are  combined,  the  gi-eatest  punishment  naturally  fol- 
lows. No  one  would  ai-gue  against  the  existence  of  a  moral 
faculty,  on  the  gi-ound  that  men  put  murderers  to  death. 
"When  therefore  theologians  believed  that  a  man  was  intensely 
guilty  who  held  certain  opinions,  and  that  he  was  causing 
the  damnation  of  his  fellows  if  he  propagated  them,  there 
was  no  moral  difficulty  in  concluding  that  the  heretic  should 
be  put  to  death.  Selfish  considerations  may  have  directed 
persecution  against  heresy  rather  than  against  vice,  but  the 
Catholic  doctrines  of  the  guilt  of  error,  and  of  the  infallibility 
of  the  Church,  were  amply  sufficient  to  justify  it. 

It  appears  then  that  a  dogmatic  system  whicn  is  accepted 
on  rational  or  other  grounds,  and  supported  by  prospects  of 
rewards  and  punishments,  may  teach  a  code  of  ethics  differ- 
ing  from  that  of  conscience  :  and  that  in  this  case  the  voice 
of  conscience  may  be  either  disregarded  or  stifled.  It  is 
however  also  true,  that  it  may  be  perverted.  When,  for  ex- 
ample, theologians  during  a  long  period  have  inculcated 
habits  of  credulity,  rather  than  habits  of  enquiry  ;  when  they 
have  persuaded  men  that  it  is  better  to  cherish  prejudice 
than  to  analyse  it ;  better  to  stifle  every  doubt  of  what  they 
have  been  taught  than  honestly  to  investigate  its  value,  they 
will  at  last  succeed  in  forming  habits  of  mind  that  will  in- 
stinctively and  habitually  recoil  from  all  impartiality  and 
Intellectual  honesty.  If  men  continually  violate  a  duty  they 
way  at  last  cease  to  feel  its  ol-ligation.     But  this,  though  it 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS  99 

forma  u  great  difficulty  in  ethical  enquii'ies,  is  no  argument 
against  the  reality  of  moral  perceptions,  for  it  is  simply  a  law 
to  which  all  our  powers  are  subject.  A  bad  intellectual 
education  will  produce  not  only  erroneous  or  impeifect  infor- 
mation but  also  a  false  ply  or  habit  of  judgment.  A  bad 
ansthetical  education  will  produce  false  canons  of  taste. 
Systematic  abuse  will  pervert  and  vitiate  even  some  of  our 
physical  perceptions.  In  each  case  the  experience  of  many 
minds  under  many  conditions  must  be  appealed  to,  to  deter- 
mine the  standard  of  right  and  wrong,  and  long  and  difficult 
discipline  is  required  to  restore  the  diseased  organ  to  sanity. 
We  may  decide  particular  moral  questions  by  reasoning,  but 
our  reasoning  is  an  appeal  to  certain  moral  principles  which 
are  revealed  to  us  by  intuition. 

The  principal  difficulty  I  imagine  which  most  men  have 
in  admitting  that  we  possess  certain  natural  moral  percep- 
tions arises  from  the  supposition  that  it  impKes  the  existence  \ 
of  some  mysterious  agent  like  the  daemon  of  Socrates,  which 
gives  us  specific  and  infallible  information  in  particular  eases. 
But  this  I  conceive  to  be  a  complete  mistake.  All  that  is 
necessarily  meant  b}^  the  adherents  of  tliis  school  is  comprised 
in  two  propositions.  The  first  is  that  our  will  is  rot 
governed  exclusively  by  the  law  of  plensure  and  pain,  but 
also  by  the  law  of  duty,  which  we  feel  to  be  dLstinct  from, 
the  former,  and  to  carry  with  it  the  sense  of  obligation.  The 
second  is  that  the  basis  of  our  conception  of  duty  is  an  intui- 
tive perception  that  among  the  various  feelings,  tendencies, 
and  impulses  that  constitute  oiu*  emotional  being,  there  are 
some  which  are  essentially  good,  and  ought  to  be  encouraged, 
and  some  which  are  essentially  bad,  and  ought  to  be  repressed. 
They  contend  that  it  is  a  psychological  fact  that  we  are  in- 
tuitively conscious  that  our  benevolent  aftectionsare  superior 
to  our  malevolent  ones,  truth  to  falsehood,  justice  to  injustice, 
gi-atitude  to  ingratitude,  chastity  to  sensuality,  and  that  in 
all  ages  and  countries  the  path  of  viitue  has  been  towards 


100  niSTOHY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

the  Mgher  and  not  towards  the  lower  feelings.  It  may  be 
that  the  sense  of  duty  is  so  weak  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible, 
ind  Hi  en  the  lower  part  of  our  nature  will  be  supreme.  It 
may  happen  that  certain  conditions  of  society  lead  men  to 
direct  theii^  anxiety  for  moral  improvement  altogether  in  one 
or  two  channels,  as  was  the  case  in  ancient  Greece,  where 
ci\ic  and  intellectual  \'irtues  were  very  highly  cultivated, 
and  the  virtue  of  chastity  was  almost  neglected.  It  may 
happen  that  different  parts  of  our  liigher  nature  in  a  measure 
conflict,  as  when  a  very  strong  sense  of  justice  checks  our 
benevolent  feelings.  Dogmatic  systems  may  enjoin  men  to 
propitiate  certain  unseen  beings  by  acts  which  are  not  in 
accordance  with  the  moral  law.  Special  circumstances  may 
influence,  and  the  intermingling  of  many  different  motives 
may  obscure  and  complicate,  the  moral  evolution ;  but  above 
all  these  one  great  truth  appears.  No  one  who  desii^es  to 
become  holier  and  better  imagines  that  he  does  so  by  be- 
coming more  malevolent,  or  more  untrathful,  or  more 
unchaste.  Every  one  who  desires  to  attain  perfection  in 
these  departments  of  feeling  is  impelled  towards  benevolence, 
towards  veracity,  towards  chastity.' 

Now  it  is  manifest  that  according  to  this  theory  the 
moral  unity  to  be  expected  in  different  ages  is  not  a  unity  of 
standard,  or  of  acts,  but  a  unity  of  tendency.  Men  come 
into  the  world  with  their  benevolent  affections  very  iaferior 
In  power  to  their  selfish  ones,  and  the  function  of  morals  is 
to  invert  this  order.  The  extinction  of  all  selfish  feeling  is 
'impossible  for  an  individual,  and  if  it  were  general,  it  would 
result  in  the  dissolution  of  society.  The  question  of  morals 
must  always  be  a  question  of  proportion  or  of  degree.     At 


'  '  La  loi    fondamentale   de   la  fond  subsiste  toujour?  le  meme,  et 

njrale  agit   sur  toutes  les  nations  ce  fond  est  I'idee  du  juste  et  de 

bienconnues.  II y  a  mille  differences  I'injuste.' — Voltaire,  Le  Fhilo»yph« 

dans  les    interpretations  de   cette  ignorant. 
loi  en  mille  circonstanees  ;  niais  le 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  101 

one  time  the  benevolent  affections  embrace  merely  the  family^ 
soon  the  circle  expanding  includes  first  a  class,  then  a  nation, 
then  a  coalition  of  nations,  then  all  humanity,  and  finally, 
its  influence  is  felt  in  the  dealings  of  man  with  the  animal 
world.  In  each  of  these  stages  a  standard  is  formed,  different 
from  that  of  the  preceding  stage,  but  in  each  case  the  same 
tendency  is  recognised  as  virtue. 

We  have  in  this  fact  a  simple,  and  as  it  appears  to  me  a 
conclusive,  answer   to    the   overwhelming   majority  of  the 
objections  that  are  continually  and  confidently  urged  against   , 
the  intuitive  school.    That  some  savages  kill  their  old  parents,   j 
that  infanticide  has  been  practised  without  compunction  by   \ 
even  civilised  nations,  that  the  best  Romans  saw  nothing    '; 
wrorg  in  the  gladiatorial  shows,  that  political  or  revengeful    \ 
assassinations  have  been  for  centuries  admitted,  that  slavery 
has  been  sometimes  honoured  and  sometimes  condemned,  are        ,; 
unquestionable  proofs  that  the  same  act  may  be  regarded  in      i 
one  age  as  innocent,  and  in  another  as  criminal.     Now  it  is      j 
undoubtedly  true  that  in  many  cases  an  historical  examina- 
tion will  reveal  special  circumstances,  explaining  or  palliating     ^ 
the  apparent  anomaly.      It  has  been  often  shown  that  the 
gladiatorial  shows  were  originally  a  form  of  human  sacrifice 
adopted  through  religious  motives ;   that  the  rude  nomadic 
life  of  savages  rendering  impossible  the  preservation  of  aged 
and  helpless  members  of  the  tribe,  the  murder  of  parents  was 
regarded  as  an  act  of  mercy  both  by  the  murderer  and  the 
victim  ;  that  before  an  effective  administration  of  justice  was 
organised,    private    vengeance   was    the    sole    preservative 
against  crime,'    and  political  assassination   against  usurjia- 
tion ;  that  the  insensibility  of  some  savages  to  the  criminality 
of  theft  arises  from  the  fact  that  they  were  accustomed  to 


'  The    feeling     in    its    favour  Osiris    to    Horus.     '  To   avenge  a 

being   often    intensified    by    filial  parent's  wrongs,'  was  the  reply. — 

affection.   '  What  is  the  most  beau-  Plutarch  De  Inicle  et  Osiride. 
tiful   thing    on    the   earth?'   said 


102  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

have  all  things  in  common ;  that  the  Spaitan  law,  legalising 
theft,  arose  partly  from  a  desire  to  foster  military  dexterity 
among  the  people,  but  chiefly  from  a  desire  to  discourage 
wealth-  that  slavery  was  introduced  through  motives  of 
mercy,  to  prevent  conquerors  from  killing  their  prisoners. ' 
All  this  is  true,  but  there  is  another  and  a  more  general 
answer.  It  is  not  to  be  expected,  and  it  is  not  maintained, 
that  men  in  all  ages  should  have  agreed  about  the  application 
of  their  moral  principles.  All  that  is  contended  for  is  that 
these  principles  are  themselves  the  same.  Some  of  what 
appear  to  us  monstrous  acts  of  cruelty,  were  dictated  by  that 
very  feeling  of  humanity,  the  universal  perception  of  the 
merit  of  which  they  are  cited  to  disprove,^  and  even  when 
this  is  not  the  case,  all  that  can  be  inferred  is,  that  the 
standard  of  humanity  was  very  low.  But  still  humanity 
was  recognised  as  a  virtue,  and  cruelty  as  a  vice. 

At  this  point,  I  may  obsei-ve  how  completely  fallacious  is 
th^  assertion  that  a  progressive  morality  is  impossible  upon 
the  supposition    of  an    original    moral  faculty. ^      To    such 


'  Hence  the  Justinian  code  and  Siamoises,  la  gorge  et  les  cuisses  a 

also  St.  Augustine  {De   Civ.    Dei,  moirie   deoouvertes,    portees    dans 

xix.  15)  derived  servus  from  '  ser-  les   rues   sur    les    palanquins,    s'y 

rare,'    to    preserve,     because    the  present ent  dans  des  attitudes  tres- 

victor  preserved  his  prisoners  alive,  lascives.     Cette  loi  fut  etablie  par 

2  '  Les     habitants     du     Congo  unedeleurs  reines  nommee  Tirada, 

tuent  les  malades  qu'ils  imaginent  qui,  pour  degouter  les  homma^  d'un 

ne  pouvoir  en  revenir  ;  c*est,disent-  amour  plus  deskonnite,  cmX,  diQYo\r 

Us,  pour  leur  epargner  les  doideurs  emph^yer  t'aite  la  puissance  de  la 

de   V agonic.     Dans   Tile    Formose,  beaute.' — Dc  r Esprit,  ii.  14. 
lorsquun    homme  est   dangf^reuse-  *  '  The     contest    between    the 

ment    malade,    on    lui    pa^se    un  morality  which  appeals  to  an  ex- 

noeudcoulantaucoleton  I'etrangle,  ternal  standard,    and   that   which 

potir    Varracher   a    la    doideur!—  grounds    itself    on    internal    con- 

Ilelvetius.  Dc  V Esprit,  ii.    13.     A  viction,  is  the  contest   of  progres- 

similar  explanation  may  be  often  sive  morality  against  stationary,  of 

found  for  customs  which  are  quoted  reason  and  argument  against  the 

to   prove   that   the  nations  where  deification    of    mere   opinion    and 

they    existed     had     no    sense    of  habit.'     (Mill's   Dissertations,  vol. 

chastity.     '  C'est  pareillement  sous  ii.  p.  472);  a  passage  with  a  tnis 

la   sauvegarde    des    lois    que    les  Bcntham  ring.     See,  too,  vol.  i.  \ , 


THE    NATURAL    HISTOHY    OF    MORALS.  103 

statements  there  are  two  very  simple  answers.  In  the  first 
()lace,  although  the  intuitive  moralist  asserts  that  certain 
uualities  are  necessarily  virtuous,  he  fully  admits  that  the 
degree  in  which  they  are  acted  upon,  or  in  other  words,  the 
standard  of  duty,  may  become  progressively  higher.  In  the 
next  place,  although  he  refuses  to  resolve  all  virtue  into 
utility,  he  admits  as  fully  as  liis  opponents,  that  benevolence^ 
or  the  promotion  of  the  happiness  of  man,  is  a  vii'tue,  and 
that  therefore  discoveries  which  exhibit  more  clearly  the 
true  interests  of  our  kind,  may  tbi-ow  new  light  upon  the 
nature  of  our  duty. 

The  considei  ations  I  have  urged  with  reference  to  huma- 
nity, apply  with  equal  force  to  the  various  relations  of  the 
sexes.  When  the  passions  of  men  are  altogether  unrestrained, 
community  of  wives  and  aU  eccentric  forms  of  sensuality  will 
be  admitted.  When  men  seek  to  improve  their  nature  in 
this  respect,  their  object  will  be  to  abi-idge  and  confine  the 
empire  of  sensuality.  But  to  this  process  of  improvement 
there  are  obvious  limits.  In  the  first  place  the  continuance 
of  the  species  is  only  possible  by  a  sensual  act.  In  the  next 
place  the  strength  of  this  passion  and  the  weakness  of  huma- 
nity are  so  great,  that  the  moralist  must  take  into  account 
the  fact  that  in  all  societies,  and  espec'ally  in  those  in  which 
free  scope  had  long  been  given  to  the  passions,  a  large  amount 
of  indulgence  will  arise  which  is  not  due  to  a  simple  desire 
of  propagating  the  species.  If  then  incest  is  prohibited,  and 
community  of  wives  replaced  by  ordinary  polygamy,  a  moral 
improvement  will  have  been  eflfected,  and  a  standard  of 
virtue  formed.  But  this  standard  soon  becomes  the  starting- 
point  of  new  progress.  If  we  examine  the  Jewish  law,  we 
find  the  legislator  prohibiting  adultery,  regulating  the  degrees 


158.     There  is,  however,  a  schism  eloquent  cliapter  on  the  compara- 

on   this   point    in    the    utilitarian  tive   influence  of   inti  Uectual    and 

cjamp.       The     views     which    Mr.  moral   agencies  in  cifilisation  di. 

Buckle  has  expressed  in  his  most  ver^e  widely  from  those  of  iVIr.Mill, 


104  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

of  marriage,  lut  at  the  same  time  authorising  polygamy, 
though  with  a  caution  against  the  excessive  multiplication  of 
wives.  In  Greece  monogamy,  though  not  without  excep- 
tions, had  been  enforced,  but  a  conciirrence  of  unfavourable 
influences  prevented  any  high  standard  being  attained  among 
the  men,  and  in.  thoii-  case  almost  every  form  of  indulgence 
beyond  the  limits  of  marriage  was  permitted.  In  Rome  the 
standard  was  far  higher.  Monogamy  was  firmly  established. 
The  ideal  of  female  morality  was  placed  as  high  as  among 
Christian  nations.  Among  men,  however,  while  unnatural 
love  and  adultery  were  regarded  as  wi-ong,  simple  unchastity 
before  marriage  was  scarcely  considered  a  fault.  In  Catho- 
licism marriage  is  regarded  in  a  twofold  light,  as  a  means  for 
the  propagation  of  the  species,  and  as  a  concession  to  the 
weakness  of  humanity,  and  aU  other  sensual  enjoyment  is 
stringently  prohibited. 

In  these  cases  there  is  a  gi*eat  difference  between  the  de- 
grees of  earnestness  with  which  men  exei*t  themselves  in  the 
repression  of  their  passions,  and  in  the  amount  of  indulgence 
which  is  conceded  to  their  lower  natiu-e ;  '  but  there  is  no 
difference  in  the  direction  of  the  virtuous  impulse.  While, 
too,  in  the  case  of  adultery,  and  in  the  production  of  children, 
questions  of  intei-est  and  utility  do  undoubtedly  intervene, 
we  are  conscious  that  the  general  progress  turns  upon  a  totally 
different  order  of  ideas.  The  feeling  of  all  men  and  the  lan- 
guage of  all  nations,  the  sentiment  which  though  often  weak- 
ened is  never  wholly  effaced,  that  this  a})petite,  even  in.  its 
most  legitimate  gratification,  is  a  thing  to  be  veiled  and  with- 
drawn from  sight,  all  that  is  known  under  the  names  of 
decency  and  indecency,  concui  in  proving  that  we  have  an 
innate,  intuitive,  instinctive  percei)tion  that  there  is  some- 
thing degi-ading  in  the  sensual  part  of  our  nature,  something 


•  '  E.stenim  sensualitasqnaedam     vis    animse    est    superior.'  — Peter 
vis  aniraae  inferior.  .  .  .  Ratio  vero     Lombard,  Sent.  ii.  24. 


THE    NATUllAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS  1C5 

,0  which  a  feeling  of  shame  is  naturally  attached,  something 
that  jars  with  our  conception  of  perfect  purity,  something  we 
could  not  with  any  propriety  ascribe  to  an  all-ho^y  being.  It 
may  be  questioned  whethei-  anyone  was  ever  altogether  desti- 
tute of  this  perception,  and  nothing  but  the  most  inveterate 
passion  for  system  could  induce  men  to  resolve  it  into  a  mere 
calculation  of  interests.  It  is  this  feeling  or  instinct  which  lies 
at  the  root  of  the  whole  movement  I  have  described,  and  it  is 
this  too  that  produced  that  sense  of  the  sanctity  of  perfect  conti- 
nence which  the  Catholic  church  has  so  warmly  encouraged, 
but  wliich  may  be  traced  through  the  most  distant  ages,  and 
the  most  various  creeds.  We  find  it  among  the  Nazarenes  and 
EssenesofJudsea,  among  the  priests  of  Egy]:)t  and  India,  in  the 
monasteries  of  Tartary,  in  the  histories  of  miraculous  virgins 
that  are  so  numerous  in  the  mythologies  of  Asia.  Such,  for  ex- 
ample, was  the  Chinese  legend  that  tells  how  when  there  was 
but  one  man  with  one  woman  upon  earth,  the  woman  refused 
to  sacrifice  her  virginity  even  in  order  to  people  the  globe, 
and  the  gods  honouring  her  purity  granted  that  she  should 
conceive  beneath  the  gaze  of  her  lover's  eyes,  and  a  virgin- 
mother  became  the  parent  of  humanity.'  In  the  midst  of 
the  sensuality  of  ancient  Greece,  chastity  was  the  pre-eminent 
attribute  of  sanctity  ascribed  to  Athene  and  Artemis.  '  Chaste 
daughter  of  Zeus,'  prayed  the  suppliants  in  ^schylus,  '  thou 
whose  calm  eye  is  never  troubled,  look  down  upon  us  !  Vir- 
gin, defend  the  virgins.'  The  Parthenon,  or  virgin's  temple, 
was  the  noblest  religious  edifice  of  Athens.  Celibacy  was 
an  essential  condition  in  a  few  of  the  orders  of  priests,  and  in 
several  orders  of  priestesses.  Plato  based  his  moral  system 
upon  the  distinction  between  the  bodily  or  sensual,  and  the 
spiritual  or  rational  part  of  our  nature,  the  first  being  the 
sign  of  our  degradation,  and  the  second  of  oui'  dignity.     The 


'  Helvetius,  De    P Esprit,    dis-     Litdh dual  Development  in  Europt 
cours  iv.      See  too,    Dr.    Draper's     (New  York,  1864),  pp.  48,  53. 
extremely  remarkable   History  of 


106  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

whole  school  cf  Pythagoras  made  chastity  one  of  its  leading 
virtues,  and  even  laboured  for  the  creation  of  a  monastic 
system.  The  conception  of  the  celestial  Aphrodite,  the  uniter 
of  souls,  unsullied  by  the  taint  of  matter,  lingered  side  by 
side  with  that  of  the  earthly  Aphrodite  or  patroness  of  lust, 
and  if  there  was  a  time  when  the  sculptors  sought  to  pander 
to  the  excesses  of  passion  there  was  another  in  which  all  their 
art  was  displayed  in  refining  and  idealising  it.  Strabo  men- 
tions the  existence  in  Thrace  of  societies  of  men  aspiring  to 
perfection  by  celibacy  and  austei-e  lives.  Plutarch  applauds 
certain  philosophers  who  vowed  to  abstain  for  a  year  fiom 
wine  and  women  in  order  '  to  honour  God  by  theii*  conti- 
nence.'^ In  Pome  the  religious  reverence  was  concentrated 
more  especially  upon  married  life.  The  gi-eat  prominence  ac 
corded  to  the  Penates  w^as  the  religious  sanction  of  domesticity. 
So  too,  at  fii'st,  was  the  worship  so  popular  among  the  Poman 
women  of  the  Bona  Dea — the  ideal  wife  who  according  to  the 
legend  had,  when  on  earth,  never  looked  in  the  face  or  known 
the  name  of  any  man  but  her  husband. ^  '  For  altar  and 
hearth '  was  the  rallying  cry  of  the  Poman  soldier.  But 
above  all  this  we  find  the  traces  of  a  higher  ideal.  We  find 
it  in  the  intense  sanctity  attributed  to  the  vestal  virgins 
whose  continence  was  guarded  by  such  fearful  penalties,  and 
supposed  to  be  so  closely  linked  with  the  prosperity  of  the 
state,  whose  prayer  was  believed  to  possess  a  mii-aculous 
power,  and  who  were  permitted  to  drive  through  the  streets 
of  Pome  at  a  time  when  that  privilege  was  refused  even  to 
the  Empress.^     We  find  it  in  the  legend  of  Claudia,  who, 


'  Plutarch,  De  CoJiihenda  Ira.  ^  The   history   of    the   vestals, 

^  Lactantius,   Div.    Inst.    i.  22.  "wliich  forms  one  of  the  most  cirious 

The   mysteries  of  the   Bona  Dea  pages  in  the  moral  history  of  Rome, 

became,  however,  after  a  time,  the  has  been  fully  treated  by  the  Abbe 

V  ceasion    of  great  disorders.     See  Nadal,  in  an  extremely  interesting 

Juvenal,  Sat.  vi.     M.  Magnin  has  and  -well-written  memoir,  read  be- 

examined  the  nature  of  these  rites  fore    the    Academie    des    Bflles- 

{Oriffi?iesdu  Theatre,  ^>^.  257-259).  lettres,  and  republished  in    1725. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  107 

when  the  ship  bearing  the  image  of  the  mother  of  the  gods 
had  been  stranded  in  the  Tiber,  attached  her  gird'e  to  its 
prow,  and  vindicated  her  challenged  chastity  by  drawing  with 
her  virgin  hand,  the  ponderous  mass  which  strung  men  had 
sought  ill  vain  to  move.  We  find  it  in  the  prophetic  gift  so 
often  attributed  to  virgins,^  in  the  law  which  sheltered  them 
from  the  degradation  of  an  execution,^  in  the  language  of 
Statins,  who  described  marriage  itself  as  a  fault. -^  In  Chris- 
tianity one  great  source  of  the  attraction  of  the  faith  has 
been  the  ascription  of  virginity  to  its  female  ideal.  The 
CaLliolic  monastic  system  has  been  so  constructed  as  to  draw 
many  thousands  from  the  sphere  of  active  duty ;  its  iiTe voc- 
able vows  have  doubtless  led  to  much  suffeiing  and  not  a  little 
crime  ;  its  opposition  to  the  normal  development  of  oar 
mingled  nature  has  often  resulted  in  grave  aberrations  of  the 
imagination,  and  it  has  placed  its  ban  upon  domestic  afiec- 
tions  and  sympathies  which  have  a  very  high  moral  value  ; 
but  in  its  central  concej)tion  that  the  purely  animal    side 


It  was  believed  that  the  prayer  cf  tically  evaded.  After  the  fall  of 
a  vestal  could  arrest  a  fugitive  Sejanus  the  senate  hnd  no  corn- 
slave  in  his  flight,  provided  he  hnd  punction  in  putting  his  innocent 
not  got  past  the  city  walls.  Pliny  dauglitei-  to  death,  but  their  reli- 
mentions  this  belief  as  general  in  gious  feelings  were  shocked  at  the 
his  time.  The  records  of  the  order  idea  of  a  virgin  falling  beneath  the 
contained  many  miracles  wrc.iight  axe.  So  by  way  df  improving  mat- 
at  different  times  to  save  the  ves-  ters  '  filia  constuprata  est  prius  a 
tals  or  to  vindicate  their  questioned  carnifice,  quasi  impium  esset  vir- 
purity,  and  also  one  miracle  which  ginera  in  car^'ere  perire.' — Dion 
is  very  remarkable  as  furnishing  a  Cassius,  Iviii.  11.  See  too,  Tacitus, 
precise  parallel  to  that  of  the  Jew  Annal.  v.  9.  If  a  vestal  met  a 
who  -was  struck  dead  for  touching  prisoner  going  to  execution  the 
the  ark  to  prevent  its  falling.  prisoner  was  spared,  provided  the 

'  As   for    example   the    Sibyls  vestal  declared  that  the  encounter 

and   Cassandra.      The   same   pro-  was  accidental.     On  the  reverence 

phetic   power    was    attributed   in  the  ancients    paid  to  virgins,    see 

Imlia  to   virgins. — Clem.  Alexan-  Justus   Lipsius,     De  Vesta  et  Ves- 

drin.  Strom,  iii.  7.  talibus. 

2  This  custom  continued  to  the  ^  ggg  Yas  picture   of  the  first 

worst  period  of  the  empire,  though  night  of  marriage : — 
'a  was  sliamefully  and  characteris- 


108 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


of  our   being  is  a  low  and  a  degraded  side,  it  reflects,  I   be 
lieve,  with  perfect  fidelity  the  feelings  of  our  nature.^ 

To  these  considerations  some  others  of  a  diifei-ent  nature 
may  be  added.  It  is  not  true  that  some  ancient  nations  re- 
garded polygamy  as  good  in  the  same  sense  as  others  regarded 
chastity.  There  is  a  great  diflei-ence  between  deeming  a  state 
permissible  and  proposing  it  as  a  condition  of  sanctity.  If  Mo- 
hammedans people  paradise  with  images  of  sensuality,  it  is 
not  because  these  form  their  ideal  of  holiness.  It  is  because 
they  regard  eai-th  as  the  sphere  of  vii*tue,  heaven  as  that  of 
simple  enjoyment.  If  some  pagan  nations  deified  sensuality, 
this  was  simply  because  the  deification  of  the  forces  of  nature, 
of  which  the  prolific  energy  is  one  of  the  most  conspicuous,  is 
among  the  earliest  forms  of  religion,  and  long  precedes  the 
identification  of  the  Deity  with  a  moral  ideal. '-^     If  there  have 


'  Tacite  siibit  ille  supremus 
Virginitatis   amor,  primseque  mo- 

destia  culpse 
Confundit      vultus.       Tpiic      ora 

rigantur  honestis 
Imbribus.' 

Thebaidos,  lib.  ii.  232-34. 

'  Bees  (which  Virgil  said  had 
in  them  something  of  the  divine 
nature)  were  suppo.sed  by  the 
ancients  to  be  the  special  emblems 
or  models  of  chastity.  It  was  a 
common  belief  that  the  bee  mother 
begot  her  young  without  losing  htr 
%argimty.  Thius  in  a  fragment 
ascribed  to  Petronius  we  read, 

"Sic    sine    concubitu    textis    apis 
excita  ceris 
Fervet,    et  audaci  mi  lite  castra 
replet.' 

Petron.  De  Varia  AmmnHvm 
Generatione. 
So  too  Virgil : — 

'Quod  neque  concubiti;   indulgent 
iiec  corpora  segnes 


In  Venerem  solvunt  aut  foetus  nixi- 
bus  eduut.' — Gcorg.  iv.  198-99. 

Plutarch  says  that  an  unchaste 
person  cannot  approach  bees,  for 
tliey  immediately  attack  him  and 
cover  him  \\\\\\  stings.  Fire  was 
also  regarded  as  a  type  of  virginity. 
Thus  Ovid,  speaking  of  the  vestals, 
says  : — 

'  Xataque    de    flamma     corpora 
nulla  -slides : 
.Jure  igitur  virgo  est,  quae  semina 
nulla  reraittit 
Nee  capit,  et  comites  vnrginitatis 
amat.' 

'  The  Egyptians  believed  J-ial  there 
are  no  males  among  vultures,  and 
they  accordingly  made  that  bird  an 
emblem  of  nature.'  —  Ammianiw 
Marcellinus,  xvii.  4. 

2  'Ladivinite  etant  consid^r^ 
comme  renfermant  en  elle  tout^B 
les  qualites,  toutes  les  forces  in- 
tellectuelles  et  morales  del"  homme, 
chacune   de    ces  forces   ou  de  e^s 


THE    NATURAL    IIl^rORY    OF    MORALS.  109 

been  nations  who  attached  a  certain  stigma  to  virginity,  this 
has  not  been  because  they  esteemed  sensuality  intrinsicfJly 
holier  than  chastity  ;  but  because  a  scanty,  warlike  j)eople 
whojc  position  in  the  world  depends  chiefly  on  the  number 
cf  its  warriors,  will  naturally  make  it  its  main  object  to  en- 
courage pop\ilation.  This  was  especially  the  case  with  the 
ancient  Jews,  who  always  regarded  extreme  populousness  as 
indissolubly  connected  with  national  pros})erity,  whose  re- 
ligion was  essentially  patriotic,  and  among  whom  the  possi- 
bility of  becoming  an  ancestor  of  the  ]\Iessiab  had  imparted 
a  peculiar  dignity  to  childbirth.  Yet  even  among  the  Jews 
the  Essenes  regarded  virginity  as  the  ideal  of  sanctity. 

The  reader  will  now  be  in  a  position  to  perceive  the  utter 
futility  of  the  objections  w^hich  from  the  time  of  Locke  have 
been  continually  brought  against  the  theory  of  natural  moral 
perceptions,  upon  the  ground  that  some  actions  which  were 
admitted  as  lawful  in  one  age,  have  been  regarded  as  immoral 
in  another.  All  these  become  absolutely  worthless  when  it 
is  perceived  that  in  every  age  virtue  has  consisted  in  the 
cultivation  of  the  same  feelings,  though  the  standards  of 
excellence  attained  have  been  different.  The  terms  higher 
and  lower,  nobler  or  less  noble,  purer  or  less  pure,  repre- 
sent moral  facts  with  much  greater  fidelity  than  the  terms 
right  or  wrong,  or  virtue  or  vice.  There  is  a  certain  sense  in 
v/hich  moral  disti actions  are  absolute  and  immutable.  There 
is  another  sense  in  which  they  are  altogether  relative  and 
transient.  There  are  some  acts  which  are  so  manifestly  and 
gi'ossly  opposed  to  our  moral  feelings,  that  they  are  regarded 
as  wrong  in  the  very  earliest  stages  of  the  cultivation  of 
these  feelings.  There  are  distinctions,  such  as  that  between 
truth  and  falsehood,  which  from  their  nature  assume  at  once 
a  sharpness  of  definition  that   separates   them   from   mere 

qualites.con^iie  separement,  s'offrait  les    anoiens  avaient    des   attributs 

?nnime  un  Etre  dJAnn.  .  .  .  Dc-la  di^-ins.' — Manvy,  H/sf.  des  Reliffiona 

aui!«si    les    contradictions   les    plus  de  la    Grecc   antique,    tome  i.   pp. 

choquantes   dans   les    notions   que  678-579. 


klO  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

v^irtues  of  degree,  though  even  in  these  cases  there  are  vdde 
variations  in  the  amount  of  scrupulosity  that  is  in  diffei-ent 
periods  required.  But  apart  from  positive  commands,  the 
sole  external  rule  enabling  men  to  designate  acts,  not  simply 
as  better  or  worse,  but  as  positively  right  or  wrong,  is,  1 
conceive,  the  standard  of  society;  not  an  ai'bitrary  standard 
lilce  that  which  Mandeville  imagined,  but  the  level  wliich 
society  has  attained  in  the  cultivation  of  what  our  mora,! 
faculty  tells  us  is  the  higher  or  vii'tuous  part  of  our  nature. 
He  who  falls  below  this  is  obstructing  the  tendency  wliich  is 
the  essence  of  virtue.  He  who  merely  attains  this,  may  not 
be  justified  in  his  own  conscience,  or  in  other  words,  by  the 
standard  of  his  own  moral  development,  but  as  far  as  any 
external  rule  is  concerned,  he  has  done  his  duty.  He  who 
rises  above  this  has  entered  into  the  region  of  things  which 
it  is  vii-tuous  to  do,  but  not  vicious  to  neglect — a  region 
known  among  Catholic  theologians  by  the  name  of '  counsels 
of  pei-fection.'  No  discussions,  I  conceive,  can  be  more  idle 
than  whether  slavery,  or  the  slaughter  of  prisoners  in  war, 
or  gladiatorial  shows,  or  polygamy,  are  essentially  wrong. 
They  may  be  wrong  now—  they  were  not  so  once — and  when 
an  ancient  countenanced  by  his  example  one  or  other  of  these, 
he  was  not  committing  a  crime.  The  unchangeable  proposi- 
tion for  which  we  contend  is  this — that  benevolence  is  always 
a  vii'tuous  disposition — that  the  seusual  part  of  our  nature  is 
always  the  lower  part. 

At  this  point,  however,  a  very  difficult  problem  naturally 
arises.  Admitting  that  our  moral  nature  is  suj)erior  to 
our  intellectual  or  physical  nature,  admitting,  too,  that  by 
the  constitution  of  our  being  we  perceive  ourselves  to  be 
under  an  obligation  to  develope  our  nature  to  its  perfection, 
establishing  the  supreme  ascendency  of  moral  motives,  the 
questicm  still  remains  whether  the  disparity  between  the 
difierent  pai-ts  of  our  being  is  such  that  no  material  or  intel- 
lectual advantage,  however  gi'eat,  may  be  rightly  purchased 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  Ill 

by  any  saciifice  of  our  moral  nature,  however  small.  Tliia 
is  the  great  question  of  casuistry,  the  question  which  divines 
expi'ess  by  asking  whether  the  end  ever  justifies  the  means; 
and  on  this  subject  there  exists  among  theologians  a  doctrine 
v»  hich  is  absolutely  unrealised,  which  no  one  ever  dreams  of 
applying  to  actual  life,  but  of  wliich  it  may  be  truly  said 
that  though  propounded  with  the  best  intentions,  it  would, 
if  acted  upon,  be  utterly  incompatible  with  the  very  rudi- 
ments of  civilisation.  It  is  said  that  an  undoubted  sin,  even 
the  most  trivial,  is  a  thing  in  its  essence  and  in  its  conse- 
quences so  unspeakably  dreadful,  that  no  conceivable  material 
or  intellectual  advantage  can  counterbalance  it ;  that  rather 
than  it  should  be  committed,  it  would  be  better  that  any 
amount  of  calamity  which  did  not  bring  with  it  sin  should 
be  endured,  even  that  the  whole  human  race  should  perish  in 
agonies. '  1  f  this  be  the  case,  it  is  manifest  that  the  supreme 
object  of  humanity  should  be  sinlessness,  and  it  is  equally 
manifest  that  the  means  to  this  end  is  the  absolute  suppres- 
sion of  the  desires.  To  expand  the  cii^cle  of  wants  is  neces- 
sarily to  multiply  temptations,  and  therefore  to  increase  the 
number  of  sins.  It  may  indeed  elevate  the  moral  standard, 
for  a  torpid  sinlessness  is  not  a  high  moral  condition  ;  but  if 
every  sin  be  what  these  theologians  assert,  if  it  be  a  thing 
deserving  etei-nal  agony,  and  so  inconceivably  frightful  that 
the  ruin  of  a  world  is  a  less  evil  than  its  commission,  even 
moral  advantages  are  utterly  incommensurate  with  it.  No 
heightening  of  the  moral  tone,  no  depth,  or  ecstasy  of  devo- 
tion, can  for  a  moment  be  placed  in  the  balance.  The  con- 
sequences of  this  doctrine,  if  applied  to  actual  life,  would  be 


'  *  The   Church   holds   that    it  one  soul,  I  will  not  say  should  be 

wete  better  for  sun  and  moon  to  lost,  but  should  commit  one  single 

drop  from  heaven,  for  the  earth  to  venial  sin,  should   tell  one  wilful 

fail,  and  for  all  the  many  millions  untruth,  though  it  harmed  no  one, 

who  are  upon  it  to  die  of  starva-  or  steal  one  poor  farthing  -without 

tion  iti    extremest  agony,  so  far  as  excuse.' — 'Newmans  A?iff/ican  IHJJi 

temporal  alHiction  goes,  than  that  culties,  p.  190. 


il2  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAL". 

BO  extravagant  that  their  simple  statement  is  a  refutation, 
A  sovereign,  when  calculating  the  consequences  of  a  war, 
Bh(3uld  reflect  that  a  single  sin  occasioned  by  that  war,  a 
s'liglo  blasphemy  of  a  wounded  soldier,  the  robbery  of  a 
single  hencoop,  the  violation  of  the  pimty  of  a  single  w  oman, 
is  a  greater  calamity  than  the  ruin  of  the  entire  commerce  of 
his  nation,  the  loss  of  her  most  precious  provinces,  the  de- 
struction of  all  her  power.  He  must  believe  that  the  evil  of 
the  increase  of  unchastity,  which  invariably  rrsu'ts  from  the 
formation  of  an  army,  is  an  immeasurably  greater  calamity 
than  any  material  or  political  disasters  that  army  can  possibly 
avert.  He  must  believe  that  the  most  fearful  plague  or 
famine  that  desolates  his  land  should  be  regarded  as  a 
matter  of  lejoicing,  if  it  has  but  the  feeblest  and  most  tran- 
sient influence  in  repressing  vice.  He  must  believe  that  if 
the  agglomeration  of  his  people  in  gi-eat  cities  adds  but  one 
to  the  number  of  then-  sins,  no  possible  intellectual  or 
matei-ial  advantages  can  prevent  the  construction  of  cities 
being  a  fearful  calamity.  Accoi'ding  to  this  principle,  every 
elaboration  of  life,  every  amusement  that  brings  multitudes 
together,  almost  every  art,  every  accession  of  wealth  that 
awakens  or  stimulates  desires,  is  an  evil,  for  all  these  become 
the  sources  of  some  sins,  and  their  advantages  are  for  the 
most  part  purely  terrestrial.  The  entire  structure  of  civili- 
sation is  founded  upon  the  belief  that  it  is  a  good  thing  to 
cultivate  intellectual  and  material  capacities,  even  at  the 
cost  of  certain  moral  evils  which  we  are  often  able  accurately 
to  foresee.^  The  time  may  come  when  the  man  who  lays  the 
foundation-stone  of  a  manufacture  will  be  able  to  predict 
with  assurance  in  what  proportion  the  drunkenness  and  the 
unchastity  of  h"s  city   will  be  increased  by  his  enterprise. 


'  There  is  a  remarkable  disser-  work  of  the  Benthamite  school, 
tation  on  this  suliject,  called  'The  called  Essays  hy  a  Barrister  (re- 
Limitations  of  Morality,'  in  a  very  printed  from  the  Saturday  Eevuw'y 
ingenious    and     suggestive     little 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  113 

Yet  Ik;  will  still  pursue  that  enterprise,  and  mankinrl  will 
pronounce  it  to  be  good. 

The  theological  doctrine  on  the  subject,  considered  in  its 
full  stringency,  though  professed  by  many,  is,  as  I  have  said, 
lealised  and  consistently  acted  on  by  no  one;  but  the  prac- 
tical judgments  of  mankind  concerning  the  extent  of  the 
superiority  of  moi-al  over  all  other  interests  vary  greatly,  and 
this  variation  supplies  one  of  the  most  serious  objections  to 
intuitive  moralists.  The  nearest  practical  approach  to  the 
theological  estimate  of  a  sin  may  be  found  in  the  ranks  of  the 
ascetics.  Their  whole  system  rests  upon  the  belief  that  it  is 
a  thing  so  transcendently  drcixdful  as  to  bear  no  proportion 
or  appreciable  relation  to  any  earthly  interests.  Starting 
from  this  belief,  the  ascetic  makes  it  the  exclusive  object  of 
his  life  to  avoid  sinning.  He  accordingly  abstains  from  all 
the  active  business  of  society,  reUnquishes  all  worldly  aims 
and  ambitions,  dulls  by  continued  discipline  his  natural 
des'res,  and  endeavours  to  pass  a  life  of  complete  absorption 
in  i-eligious  exercises.  And  in  all  this  his  conduct  is  reasonable 
and  consistent.  The  natural  course  of  every  man  who  adopts 
this  estimate  of  the  enormity  of  sin  is  at  every  cost  to  avoid 
all  external  influences  that  can  prove  temptations,  and  to 
attenuate  as  far  as  possible  his  own  appetites  and  emotions. 
It  is  in  this  respect  that  the  exaggerations  of  theologians 
paralyse  our  moral  being.  For  the  diminution  of  sins,  how- 
ever important,  is  but  one  part  of  moral  progress.  When- 
ever it  is  forced  into  a  disproportionate  prominence,  we  find 
tame,  languid,  and  mutilated  natures,  destitute  of  all  fij-e 
and  eneigy,  and  this  tendency  has  been  still  further  aggra- 
vated by  the  extreme  prominence  usually  given  to  the  virtue 
of  gentleness,  which  may  indeed  be  attained  by  men  of  strong 
natures  and  vehement  emotions,  but  is  evidently  more  con- 
genial to  a  somewhat  feeble  and  passionless  character. 

Ascetic  ])ractices  are  manifestly  and  rapidly  disappearing, 
and  theii'  decline  is  a  striking  proof  of  the  evanescence  of 


tl4  HISTOKY    OF    EUROPEAN    MOEALS. 

the  mora]  notions  of  which  they  were  the  expression,  but 
in  many  existing  questions  relating  to  the  same  matter,  we 
fold  perplexing  diversity  of  judgment.  We  find  it  in  the 
contrast  between  the  system  of  education  usually  adopted  by 
the  Catholic  priesthood,  which  has  for  its  pre-eminent  object 
to  prevent  sins,  and  for  its  means  a  constant  and  minute 
supervision,  and  the  English  system  of  public  schools,  which 
is  certainly  not  the  most  fitted  to  guard  against  the  possi- 
bility of  sin,  or  to  foster  any  very  delicate  scrupulosity  of 
feeling  ;  but  is  intended,  and  popularly  supposed,  to  secure 
the  healthy  expansion  of  every  variety  of  capacity.  We  find 
it  in  the  widely  difierent  attitudes  which  good  men  in  dif- 
ferent periods  have  adopted  towards  religious  opinions  they 
believe  to  be  false  ;  some,  like  the  reformers,  refusing  to  par- 
ticipate in  any  superstitious  service,  or  to  withhold  on  any 
occasion,  or  at  any  cost,  their  protest  against  what  they  re- 
garded as  a  lie ;  others,  like  most  ancient,  and  some  modern 
philosophers  and  politicians,  combining  the  most  absolute 
personal  incredulity  with  an  assiduous  observance  of  super- 
stitious rites,  and  strongly  censuring  those  who  disturbed 
delusions  which  ai  e  useful  or  consolatory  to  the  people ; 
while  a  third  class  silently,  but  without  protest,  withdraw 
themselves  from  the  observances,  and  desire  that  their 
opinions  should  have  a  free  expression  in  literature,  but  at 
the  same  time  discourage  all  pi-oselytising  efforts  to  force 
them  rudely  on  unprepared  minds.  We  find  it  in  the 
frequent  conflicts  between  the  political  economist  and  the 
Catholic  priest  on  the  subject  of  early  marriages,  the  former 
opposing  them  on  the  ground  that  it  is  an  essential  conditi(m 
of  material  well-being  that  the  standard  of  comfort  should 
not  be  depressed,  the  latter  advocating  them  on  the  gromid 
that  the  postponement  of  marriages,  through  prudential 
motives,  by  any  large  body  of  men,  is  the  fertile  mother  of 
sin.  We  find  it  most  conspicuously  in  the  marked  diversities 
of  tolerance  manifested  in  different  communities  towards 
amusements  which  may  in  themselves  be  perfectly  innocent, 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  115 

but  which  prove  the  sources  or  the  occasions  of  vice.  The 
Scotch  Puritans  probably  represent  one  extreme,  the  Paiisian 
society  of  the  empire  the  other,  while  the  position  of  average 
Englishmen  is  perhaps  equidistant  between  them.  Yet  this 
difference,  great  as  it  is,  is  a  difference  not  of  principle,  but 
of  degree.  No  Puritan  seriously  desires  to  suppress  every 
clan-gathering,  every  highland  game  which  may  have  occa- 
sioned an  isolated  fit  of  drunkenness,  though  he  may  be 
unable  to  show  that  it  has  prevented  any  sin  that  would 
otherwise  have  been  committed.  No  Frenchman  will  ques- 
tion that  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  demoralisation  which 
should  not  be  tolerated,  however  great  the  enjoyment  that 
accompanies  it.  Yet  the  one  dwells  almost  exclusively  upon 
the  moral,  the  other  upon  the  attractive,  nature  of  a  spectacle. 
Between  these  there  are  numei'ous  gradations,  which  are 
shown  in  frequent  disputes  about  the  merits  and  demerits  of 
the  racecoiu-se,  the  ball,  the  theatre,  and  the  concert.  Where 
then,  it  may  be  asked,  is  the  line  to  be  drawn  1  By  what  rule 
can  the  point  be  determined  at  which  an  amusement  becomes 
vitiated  by  the  evil  of  its  consequences? 

To  these  questions  ths  intuitive  moralist  is  obliged  to 
answer,  that  such  a  line  cannot  be  drawn,  that  such  a  rule 
does  not  exist.  The  colours  of  our  moral  nature  are  rarely 
separated  by  the  sharp  liiies  of  our  vocabulary.  They  fade 
and  blend  into  one  another  so  imj^erceptibly,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  mark  a  precise  point  of  transition.  The  end  of 
man  is  the  full  development  of  his  being  in  that  symmetry 
and  proportion  which  nature  has  assigned  it,  and  such  a  de- 
velopment im})lies  that  the  sujjreme,  the  predominant  motive 
of  his  life,  should  be  moral.  If  in  any  society  or  individual 
this  ascendency  does  not  pxist,  that  society  or  that  individual 
is  in  a  diseased  and  abnormal  condition.  But  the  superiority 
of  the  moral  part  o^  our  nature,  though  unquestionable,  is 
indefinite  not  mfinite,  and  the  prevailing  standard  is  not  at 
all  times  tho  same.     The  moralist  can  only  lay  down  genera] 


116  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

principles.     Indi"vidual  feeling  or  the  general  sentiment  o^ 
society  must  draw  the  application. 

The  vagueness  that  on  such  questions  confessedly  hangs 
over  the  intuitive  theory,  has  always  been  insisted  upon  by 
members  of  the  opposite  school,  who  '  in  the  greatest  happi- 
ness princip'.e'  claim  to  possess  a  definite  formulary,  enabling 
them  to  drriW  bokVy  the  frontier  line  between  the  lawful  and 
the  illicit,  and  to  remove  moral  disputes  from  the  domain  of 
feeling  to  that  of  demonstration.  But  this  claim,  which  forms 
the  great  attraction  of  the  utilitarian  school,  is,  if  I  mistake 
not,  one  of  the  grossest  of  impostures.  We  compare  with 
accuracy  and  confidence  the  value  of  the  most  various 
material  commodities,  for  we  mean  by  tliis  term,  exchange- 
able value,  and  we  have  a  common  measure  of  exchange. 
But  we  seek  in  vain  for  such  a  measure  enabling  us  to  com- 
pare different  kinds  of  utility  or  happiness.  Thus,  to  take  a 
very  familiar  example,  the  question  may  be  proposed,  whether 
excursion  trains  from  a  country  district  to  a  seaport  town 
produce  more  good  than  evil,  whether  a  man  governed  by 
.moral  principles  should  encourage  or  oppose  them.  They 
give  innocent  and  healthy  enjoyment  to  many  thousands, 
they  enlarge  in  some  degree  the  range  of  theii'  ideas,  they  can 
hardly  be  said  to  prevent  any  sin  that  would  otherwise  have 
been  committed,  they  give  rise  to  many  cases  of  drunkenness, 
each  of  which,  according  to  the  theological  doctrine  we  have 
reviewed,  should  be  deemed  a  more  dreadful  calamity  than 
the  earthquake  of  Lisbon,  or  a  visitation  of  the  cholera,  but 
which  have  not  usually  any  lasting  terrestrial  effects ;  they 
also  often  produce  a  measure,  and  sometimes  no  small  measure, 
of  more  serious  vice,  and  it  is  probable  that  hundreds  of 
women  may  trace  their  first  fall  to  the  excursion  train.  "We 
have  here  a  number  of  advantages  and  disadvantages,  the 
fii'st  being  intellectual  and  physical,  and  the  second  moral. 
Nearly  all  moralists  would  acknowledge  that  a  few  instances 
of  immorality  would  not  prevent  the  excursion  train  being, 
on  the  whole,  a  good  thing.     All   would  acknowledge  that 


THE    NATURAL    HISTOUY    OF    MORALS.  117 

very  numerous  instances  would  more  than  counterbalanc;e  its 
advantages.  The  intuitive  moi'alist  confesses  that  he  is  un- 
able to  draw  a  precise  line,  showing  where  the  moral  evils 
outweigh  the  physical  benefits.  In  what  possible  respect  the 
introduction  of  Benthamite  formularies  improves  the  matter, 
I  am  unable  to  understand.  No  utilitarian  would  reduce 
tlie  question  to  one  of  simple  majority,  or  would  have  the 
cynicism  to  balance  the  ruin  of  one  woman  by  the  day's  en- 
joyment of  another.  The  im})Ossibility  of  drawing,  in  such 
cases,  a  distinct  line  of  division,  is  no  argument  against  the 
intuitive  moralist,  for  that  impossibility  is  shared  to  the  full 
extent  by  his  rival. 

There  are,  as  we  have  seen,  two  kinds  of  interest  with 
which  utilitarian  moralists  are  concerned — the  private  interest 
which  they  believe  to  be  the  ultimate  motive,  and  the  public 
interest  which  they  believe  to  be  the  end,  of  all  vii'tue.  With 
reference  to  the  first,  the  intuitive  moralist  denies  that  a 
selfish  act  can  be  a  virtuous  or  meritorious  one.  If  a  man 
when  about  to  commit  a  theft,  became  suddenly  conscious 
of  the  presence  of  a  policeman,  and  through  fear  of  arrest  and 
punishment  were  to  abstain  from  the  act  he  would  otherwise 
have  committed,  this  abstinence  would  not  appear  in  the  eyes 
of  mankind  to  possess  any  moral  value  ;  and  if  he  were  de- 
termined partly  by  conscientious  motives,  and  partly  by  fear, 
the  presence  of  the  latter  element  would,  in  proportion  to  its 
strength,  detract  from  his  merit.  But  although  selfish  con- 
siderations are  distinctly  opposed  to  virtuous  ones,  it  would 
be  a  mistake  to  imagine  they  can  never  ultimately  have 
a  purely  moral  influence.  In  the  first  place,  a  well-ordered 
system  of  threats  and  punishments  marks  out  the  path  of 
%^'tue  with  a  distinctness  of  definition  it  could  scarcely  have 
otherwise  attamed.  In  the  next  place,  it  often  happens  that 
when  the  mind  is  swayed  by  a  conflict  of  motives,  the  expec- 
tation of  reward  or  punishment  will  so  reinforce  or  support 


il8  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAL?. 

the  vii'tiious  motives,  as  to  secure  their  Tictorj  ;  rviid,  aa 
every  triumph  of  these  motives  increases  their  strength  and 
weakens  the  opposing  principles,  a  step  will  thus  have  been 
made  towards  moral  perfection,  which  will  render  more  pro  - 
table  the  futiu-e  triumph  of  unassisted  vii-tue. 

With  reference  to  the  interests  of  soc'ety,  there  arc  tAvo 
listinct  assertions  to  be  made.  The  fii-st  is,  that  although 
the  pursuit  of  the  welfare  of  others  is  undoubt;edly  one  form 
of  virtue,  it  does  not  include  all  virtue,  or,  in  other  woi-ds, 
that  there  are  forms  of  virtue  which,  even  if  beneficial  to 
mankind,  do  not  become  vii-tuous  on  that  account,  but  have 
an  intrinsic  excellence  which  is  not  proportioned  to  or  depen- 
dent on  their  utility.  The  second  is,  that  there  may  occasion- 
ally arise  considerations  of  extreme  and  overwhelming  utility 
that  may  justify  a  saciifice  of  these  vii-tues.  This  sacrifice 
may  be  made  in  various  ways  -  as,  when  a  man  undeitakes 
an  enterprise  which  is  in  itself  perfectly  innocent,  but  which 
in  addition  to  its  great  material  advantages  will,  as  he  well 
knows,  produce  a  certain  measure  of  crime  ;  or  when,  ab- 
staining from  a  protest,  he  tacitly  countenances  beliefs  which 
he  considers  untrue,  because  he  regai-ds  them  as  transcen- 
dently  useful ;  or  again,  when,  for  the  benefit  of  others,  and 
under  cii'cumstances  of  gi-eat  urgency,  he  utters  a  dii-ect  false- 
hood, as,  for  example,  when  by  such  means  alone  he  can 
save  the  life  of  an  innocent  man. '  But  the  fact,  that  in  these 
cases  considerations  of  exti-eme  utility  are  suffered  to  over- 


'  The folloT\'ing passage,  though  lege  comme  David;  car  j'ai  Ta 
rather  vague  aud  rhetorical,  is  not  certitude  en  moi-meme  qu'en  par- 
unimpressive :  'Oui,  dit  Jacobi,  donnant  a  ces  fautes  suivant  la 
je  mentirais  comme  Desdemona  lettre  I'liomme  exeree  le  droit 
mnurante,  je  tromperais  comma  souverain  que  la  majeste  de  son 
Oreste  quand  il  veut  mourir  a  la  etre  lui  confere  ;  il  appose  le  sceaii 
j"lace  de  Pylade,  j'assassinerais  de  sa  divine  nature  sur  la  graca 
C^/inme  Timoleon,  je  serais  parjure  qu'il  accorde.'  —  Earchou  de  Pen- 
comme  Epaminondas  et  Jean  de  hoen,  Hist,  de  la  Vhilos.  allemancU. 
Witt,  je  me  detenninerais  au  sui-  tome  i.  p.  29o. 
cide  comme  Catou,  je  serais  sacri- 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  Hi) 

ride  considerations  of  morality,  is  in  no  degi*ee  inconsistent 
with  the  facts,  that  the  latter  differ  in  kind  from  the  former, 
that  they  are  of  a  higher  nature,  and  that  they  may  supply 
adequate  and  legitimate  motives  of  action  not  only  distinct 
from,  but  even  in  opposition  to  utility.  Gold  and  silver  aio 
different  metals.  Gold  is  more  valuable  than  silver  ;  yet  a 
very  small  quantity  of  gold  may  be  advantageously  exchanged 
for  a  very  lai  go  quantity  of  silver. 

The  last  class  of  objections  to  the  theory  of  natural  moral 
perceptions  which  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  notice,  arises  from 
a  very  mischievous  equivocation  in  the  word  natural. '  The  term 
natural  man  is  sometimes  regarded  as  synonymous  with  man 
in  his  primitive  or  barbarous  condition,  and  sometimes  as  ex- 
pressing all  in  a  civilised  man  that  is  due  to  nature  as  dis- 
tinguished from  artificial  habits  or  acquirements.  This 
equivocation  is  especially  dangerous,  because  it  implies  one  of 
the  most  extravagant  excesses  to  which  the  sensational  phi- 
losophy could  be  pushed — the  notion  that  the  difference  be- 
tween a  savage  and  a  civilised  man  is  simply  a  difference  of 
acquisition,  and  not  at  all  a  difference  of  development.  In 
accordance  with  this  notion,  those  who  deny  original  mora] 
distinctions  have  ransacked  the  accounts  of  travellers  for  ex- 
amples of  savages  who  appeared  destitute  of  moral  sentiments, 
and  have  adduced  them  as  conclusive  evidence  of  thr-ir  posi- 
tion. iN^ow  it  is,  I  think,  abundantly  evident  that  these 
narratives  are  usually  exceedingly  untrustworthy. ^      They 

'  This    equivocation    seems    to  hanl,  it  is,  I  think,  equally  certain 

me  to  lie  at  the  root  of  the  famous  that   man    necessarily    becomes  a 

dispute  whether  man  is  by  nature  social  being  in  exact  proporti'>n  to 

a    social    being,    or   -whether,    as  the  development  of  the  capacitii-s 

Hobbes  averred,  the  state  of  nature  of  his  nature. 

is   a  state  of  war.     Few  ppr^ons  -  One  of  the  best  living  authori- 

who  have  observed  the  recent  light  ties  on  this  question  writes  :  '  The 

thrown  on  the  subject  will  question  asserted  existf-nce  of  savages  so  low 

that  the  primitive  condition  of  man  as  to  have  no  moral  standard  is  too 

was  that  of  savage  life,  and  fewer  groundless  to  be  discussed.     Every 

still  will  question  that  saA-age  life  human  tribe  has  its  general  views  as 

\8  a  stare  of  war.'    On  the  ether  to  what  conduct  is  rigb'.  and  what 


120  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

have  been  in  most  cases  collected  by  uncritical  and  unpliilo- 
Rophical  travellers,  who  knew  little  of  the  language  and  still 
less  of  the  inner  life  of  the  people  they  described,  whose  meauH 
of  information  were  acquired  in  simply  travei*snig  the  country, 
who  were  more  struck  by  moral  paradox,  than  by  unostenta- 
tious virtue,  who  were  proverbially  addicted  to  embellishing 
and  exaggerating  the  singularities  they  witnessed,  and  who 
very  rarely  investigated  their  origin.  It  should  not  be  for- 
gotten that  the  French  moralists  of  the  last  centuiy,  who  in- 
sisted most  strongly  on  this  species  of  evidence,  wei-e  also  the 
dupes  of  one  of  the  most  curious  delusions  in  the  whole  com- 
pass of  literary  histoiy.  Those  unflinching  sceptics  who 
claimed  to  be  the  true  disciples  of  the  apostle  who  believed 
nothing  that  he  had  not  touched,  and  whose  relentless  criti- 
cism played  with  withering  eflfect  on  all  the  holiest  fee'ings 
of  our  nature,  and  on  all  the  tenets  of  traditional  creeds,  had 
discovered  one  happy  land  where  the  ideal  had  ceased  to  be  a 
dream.  They  could  point  to  one  people  whose  pure  and 
rational  morality,  pm*ged  from  all  the  clouds  of  bigotry  and 
enthusiasm,  shone  with  an  almost  dazzUng  splendoiu-  above  the 
ignorance  and  superstition  of  Europe.  Yoltaire  forgot  to  gibe, 
and  Helvetius  kindled  into  enthusiasm,  when  China  and  the 
Chinese  rose  before  their  minds,  and  to  this  semi-barbarous 
nation  they  habitually  attributed  maxims  of  conduct  that 
neither  Roman  nor  Christian  \nTtue  had  ever  realised. 

But  putting  aside  these  considerations,  and  assuming  tLe 
fidelity  of  the  pictures  of  savage  life  upon  which  theso 
writers  rely,  they  fail  to  prove  the  point  for  which  they  are 
adduced.  The  moralists  I  am  defending,  asseit  that  we 
possess  a  natural  power  of  distinguishing  between  the  higher 
ar.d  lower  parts  of  our  nature.     But  the  eye  of  the  m'nd,  like 


wrong,  and  each  generation  hands  there     is    yet     wider     agreement 

the  standard  on  to  the  next.     Even  throughout    the     human     race.' — 

in  the  details  of  rheir  moral  stand-  Tylor  on  Primitive  Society,  Conttvi- 

ards,  wide  as  their  diiferences  are,  porary  Review,  April  1873,  p.  ?02. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  12l 

the  eye  of  the  body,  may  be  closed.  Moral  and  rational 
faculties  may  be  alike  dormant,  and  they  will  certainly  be  so 
if  men  are  wholly  immersed  in  the  gratification  of  their 
senses.  Man  is  like  a  plant,  which  requires  a  favourable 
soil  for  the  full  expansion  of  its  natm-al  or  innate  powers.' 
iTet  those  powers  both  rational  and  moral  are  there,  and 
V,  lien  quickened  into  action,  each  will  discharge  its  appointed 
fimctions.  If  it  could  be  proved  that  there  are  savages  who 
are  absolutely  destitute  of  the  progressive  energy  which  dis- 
tinguishes reason  fi-om  instinct  and  of  the  moral  aspii-ation 
which  constitutes  virtue,  this  would  not  prove  that  rational 
or  moral  faculties  foim  no  part  of  theii*  nature.  If  it  could 
be  shown  that  there  is  a  stage  of  bai-barism  in  which  man 
knows,  feels  and  does  nothing  that  might  not  be  known,  felt 
and  done  by  an  ape,  this  would  not  be  suflScient  to  reduce 
him  to  the  level  of  the  brute.  Thei-e  would  still  be  this 
broad  distinction  between  them — the  one  possesses  a  capacity 
for  develoj)ment  which  the  other  does  not  possess.  Under 
favourable  circumstances  the  savasre  will  become  a  reasoning. 


'  The  distinction  between  innate  round  il,  it  takes  not  its  tinge  from 

faculties  evoh'ed  by  experience  and  accident  but  design,  and  comes  forth 

innate  ideas  independent  of  experi-  covered  with  a   glorious    pattern.' 

ence,  and  the  analogy  between  the  {Oti  tlie  Studies  of  th;  University, 

expansion  of  the  former  and  that  p.  54.)      Leibnitz   says:    '  L'esprit 

of  the  bud  into  the  flower  has  been  n'est  point  une  table  rase.     II  est 

very  happily  treated  by  Reid.    {On  tout  plein  de  caracteres  que  la  sen- 

ths  Active  Powers,  essay  iii.  chap,  sation    ne    pent   que  decouvrir  et 

viii.  p.  4.)      Professor   Sedgwick,  mettre  en  luraiere  au  lieu  de  les  y 

criticising  Locke's  notion  of  the  soul  imprimer.     Je  me  puis  servi  de  la 

being   originally   like   a    sheet   of  comparaison  d'unepierre  de  marbre 

white     paper,     beautifully     snys:  qui  a  des  veines  plutot  que  d'une 

'Naked  man  comes  from  his  mother's  pierre  de   marbre  tout  unie.  .  .  . 

womb,    endowed    with    limbs   and  S'il  yavait  dans  la  pierre  des  veines 

Bsnses  indeed  well  fitted  to  the  ma-  qui  marquassent  la  figure  d'Hercule 

terial  world,    yet   powerless   from  preterablement  a  d'autres  figures, 

want  of  use;  and  as  for  knowledge,  .   .  .  .  Hereule  y  seraitconime  inne 

his  soul  is  one  unvaried  blank  ;  yet  en  quelque  faqon,  quoiqu'il  fnllTit  du 

has  this  blank  been  already  touched  travail   pour  decouvrir  cfs  veines.' 

by   a    celestial    hand,    and    wdien  — Cr.tique  dc  VEssai  sur  CF/atende- 

plunged  in  the  colours  which  sur-  ■me7it. 

10 


122  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

progi-essive,  and  moral  man  :  under  no  circumstances  can  a 
Bimilar  tra]isfoi-mation  be  effected  in  the  ape.  It  may  be  as 
difficult  to  detect  the  oakleaf  in  the  acorn  as  in  the  stone ; 
yet  the  acorn  may  be  convei-ted  into  an  oak  :  the  stone  will 
always  continue  to  be  a  stone. ^ 

The  foregoing  pages  will,  I  trust,  have  exhibited  with 
sufficient  clearness  the  natui^e  of  the  two  gi^eat  divisions  of 
moral  philosophy — the  school  which  proceeds  from  the  primi- 
tive truth  that  all  men  desire  happiness,  and  endeavours  out 
of  this  fact  tc  evolve  all  ethical  doctrines,  and  the  school 
which  traces  oui  moral  systems  to  an  intuitive  perception 
that  certain  parts  of  our  nature  are  higher  or  better  than 
others.  It  is  obvious  that  this  difference  concerning  the 
origin  of  our  moral  conceptions  forms  part  of  the  very  much 
wider  metaphysical  question,  whether  our  ideas  are  derived 
exclusively  fi-om  sensation  or  whether  they  spring  in  part 
from  the  miad  itself.  The  latter  theory  in  antiquity  wag 
chiefly  represented  by  the  Platonic  doctrine  of  pre-existence, 
which  rested  on  the  conviction  that  the  mind  has  the  power 
of  drawiag  from  its  own  depths  certain  conceptions  or  ideas 
which  cannot  be  explained  by  any  post-natal  experience,  and 
must  therefore,  it  was  said,  have  been  acquii-ed  in  a  previous 


^  The  argument  ag;iinst.  the  in-  a  hunter  carrying  a  dead  de-  r,  klls 

tuitive     moralists     derived     from  the  hunter  and  steals  the  deer,  and 

savage  life  was  employed  at  some  is  afterwards  himself  assailed  by 

length    by    Locke.       Paley    then  another  hunter  whom  he  kills.    Mr. 

adopted  it,  taking  a  history  of  base  Austin    asks    whether    the   savage 

ingratituda     related     hy    Valerius  would   perceive  a  moral  difference 

Maximus,   and   asking  whether  a  between  these  two  acts  of   homi- 

eavage  would  view  it  with  disap-  cide?    Certainly  not.    In  this  early 

probation.      {Moral  Phil,   b  >ok  i.  stage  of  development,  the  savage 

ch.  5.)      Dugald    Stewart    {A'fioe  recognises  a  duty  of  justice  and 

and  Moral  Powers,  vol.  i.  pp.  230-  humanity  to  the  members  of   his 

231)  and  other  writers  have  very  tribe,  but  to  no  one  beyond  th's 

fully  answered  this  l;ut  the  same  ob-  circle.     He  is  in  a  'state  of  war' 

jection  has  been  revived  in  another  with  the  foreign  hunter.    He  has  a 

form  by  Mr.  Aust\ii,  who  supposes  right  to  kill  the   hunter  and    the 

{Lectures  on  Jurisprud  nee,  vol.  i.  hunter  an  equal  right  to  kill  him. 
pp.  82  83)  a  savage  who  first  meets 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  123 

existence.  In  the  seventeenth  century  it  took  the  orm  of  ci 
doctrine  of  innate  ideas.  But  though  this  theory  in  the  form 
in  wliich  it  was  professed  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbnry  and 
assailed  by  Locke  has  almost  disappeared,  the  doctrine  that 
we  possess  certain,  faculties  which  by  their  own  expansion, 
and  not  by  the  reception  of  notions  from  without,  are  not 
only  capable  of,  but  must  necessarily  attain,  certain  ideas,  as 
the  bud  must  necessarily  expand  into  its  own  specific  flower, 
Btill  occupies  a  distinguished  place  in  the  world  of  speculation, 
and  its  probability  has  been  greatly  strengthened  by  i-ecent 
observations  of  the  range  and  potency  of  instinct  in  animals. 
From  some  passages  in  his  Essay,  it  appears  that  Locke  him- 
self had  a  confused  perception  of  this  distinction,'  which  was 
by  no  means  unknown  to  previous  writers;  and  after  the 
publication  of  the  philosophy  of  Locke  it  was  clearly  exhi- 
bited by  Shaftesbury  and  Leibnitz,  and  incidentally  noticed  by 
Berkeley  long  before  Kant  established  his  distinction  between 
the  form  and  the  matter  of  our  knowledge,  between  ideas 
which  are  received  a  'priori  and  ideas  which  are  received  a 
'posteriori.  The  existence  or  non-existence  of  this  source  of 
ideas  forms  the  basis  of  the  opposition  between  the  inductive 
philosophy  of  England  and  the  French  philosophy  of  the 
eighteenth  century  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  German  and 


»  P>eryoDe  who  is  acquainted  of  CondilLic  grew  professedly  out 

with  metaphysics  knows  that  there  of  his  philosophy.     In  defence  o^ 

has  been  an  almost  endless  contro-  the  legitimacy  of  the  process   b^ 

versy  about    Locke's    meaning   on  whi^-h  these  writers  evolved  their 

this  point.      The  fact  seems  to  be  ccnclusions  from  the  premisses  of 

that  Locke,  like  most  great  origi-  Locke,  the  reader  may  consult  the 

nators  of  thought,  and  indeed  more  very  able  lectures  of  M.  Cousin  on 

than  most,  often  failed  to  perceive  Locke.     The  other  side  has  been 

the  ultimate   consequences  of   his  treated,  among  others,  by  Dugald 

principles,  and  p  irtly  through  some  Srewart  in  \\\^I)U>>irtation,  by  Pro- 

confusiun  of   thought,  and    partly  fesscr  Webb  in  his  Litdlcctualism 

through  uihappiness  of  expression,  of  LocJce,  and  by  Mr.  Eogers  in  an 

h^s  l-ft  passages  involving  the  com-  essay  reprinted  from  the  Edinburgh 

elusions   of  both    schools.      As   a  Ihvicw. 
matter  of  history  the  sensual  school 


121  HISTOllY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

Scotch  philosophies,  as  well  as  the  French  eclecticism  of  the 
nineteenth  century  upon  the  other.  The  tendency  of  the  fii'st 
school  is  to  restrict  as  far  as  possible  the  active  powers  of  the 
human  mind,  and  to  aggrandise  as  far  as  possible  the  empire 
of  external  circumstances.  The  other  school  dwells  especially 
on  the  instinctive  side  of  our  nature,  and  maintains  the  ex- 
istence of  certain  intuitions  of  the  reason,  certain  categories  or 
original  conceptions,  which  are  presupposed  in  all  oiu-  reason- 
ings and  cannot  be  resolved  into  sensations.  The  boast  of  the 
first  school  is  that  its  searching  analysis  leaves  no  mental 
phenomenon  um*esolved,  and  its  attraction  is  the  extreme 
simplicity  it  can  attain.  The  second  school  multiplies  faculties 
or  original  principles,  concentrates  its  attention  mainly  upon 
the  natm-e  of  our  imderstanding,  and  asserts  very  strongly 
the  initiative  force  both  of  our  will  and  of  our  intellect. 

We  find  this  connection  between  a  philosophy  based 
upon  the  senses,  and  a  morality  founded  uj^on  utility  from 
the  earliest  times.  Aristotle  was  distinguished  among  the 
ancients  for  the  emphasis  with  which  he  dwelt  upon  the 
utility  of  virtue,  and  it  was  from  the  writings  of  Aristotle 
that  the  schoolmen  derived  the  famous  formulary  which  has 
become  the  motto  of  the  school  of  Locke.  Locke  himself 
devoted  especial  research  to  the  refutation  of  the  doctrine  of 
a  natural  moral  sense,  which  he  endeavoured  to  overthrow 
by  a  catalogue  of  immoral  practices  that  exist  among  savages, 
and  the  hesitation  he  occasionally  exhibited  in  his  moral 
doctrine  corresponds  not  unfaithful'y  to  the  obscurity  thrown 
over  his  metaphysics  by  the  admission  of  reflection  as  a  source 
of  ideas.  If  his  opponent  Leibnitz  made  pleasure  the  object 
of  moral  action,  it  was  only  that  refined  pleasure  which  is 
;;roduced  by  the  contemplation  of  the  happiness  of  others. 
When,  however,  Condillac  and  his  followers,  removing  reflec- 
tion from  the  position  Locke  had  assigned  it,  reduced  the 
philosophy  of  sensation  to  its  simplest  expression,  and  when 
the  Scotch  and  German  writers  elaborated  the  principles  of 


THE   NATURAL   HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  126 

the  opposite  scliool,  the  moral  tendencies  of  both  weie  indis- 
putably manifested.  Everywhere  the  philosophy  of  sensation 
was  accompanied  by  the  morals  of  interest,  and  the  ideal 
philosophy,  by  an  assertion  of  the  existence  of  a  inma\ 
faculty,  and  every  influence  that  has  affecteil  the  prevailing 
theory  concerning  the  origin  of  our  ideas,  has  exercised  a 
corresponding  influence  upon  the  theories  of  ethics. 

The  great  movement  of  modsrn  thought,  of  which  Bacon 
was  at  once  the  highest  representative  and  one  of  the  chief 
agents,  has  been  truly  said  to  exhibit  a  striking  resemblance, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  strildng  contrast,  to  the  movement  of 
ancient  thought,  which  was  effected  chiefly  by  the  genius  of 
Socrates.  In  the  name  of  utility,  Socrates  diverted  the  in- 
tellect of  antiquity  from  the  fmtastic  cosm.ogonies  with  which 
it  had  long  been  occupied,  to  the  study  of  the  moral  nature 
of  man.  In  the  name  of  the  same  utility  Bacon  laboured  to 
divert  the  modern  intellect  from  the  idle  metaphysical  specu- 
lations of  the  schoolmen  to  natural  science,  to  which  newly 
discovered  instruments  of  research,  his  own  sounder  method, 
and  a  cluster  of  splendid  intellects,  soon  gave  an  unprece- 
dented impulse.  To  the  indii-ect  influence  of  this  movement, 
perhaps,  even  more  than  to  the  direct  teaching  of  Gassendi 
and  Locke,  may  be  ascribed  the  great  ascendency  of  sensa- 
tional philosophy  among  modern  nations,  and  it  is  also  con- 
nected with  some  of  the  most  important  differences  between 
ancient  and  modern  histoiy.  Among  the  ancients  the  humaji 
mind  was  chiefly  directed  to  philosophical  speculations,  in 
which  the  law  seems  to  be  perpetual  oscillation,  wliile  among 
the  moderns  it  has  rather  tended  towards  physical  science, 
and  towards  inventions,  in  which  the  law  is  perpetual  pro- 
gi'ess.  National  power,  and  in  most  cases  even  national 
independence,  implied  among  the  ancients  the  constant  energy 
of  high  intellectual  or  moral  qualities.  When  the  heroism 
or  the  genius  of  the  people  had  relaxed,  when  an  enervating 
philosophy  or  the  lassitude  that  often  accompanies  civilisation 


126  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

arrived,  the  whole  edifice  speedily  tottered,  the  sceptre  wns 
transferred  to  ano^er  state,  and  the  same  history  was  else- 
where reproduced.  A  groat  nation  bequeathed  indeed  to  its 
successors  works  of  transcendent  beauty  in  2ivi  and  literature, 
philosophies  that  could  avail  only  when  the  mind  had  risen 
to  their  level,  examples  that  might  stimulate  the  heroism  of 
an  aspiring  people,  warnings  that  might  sometimes  arrest  it 
on  the  path  to  ruin.  But  all  these  acted  only  through  the 
mind.  In  modern  times,  on  the  other  hand,  if  we  put  aside 
religious  influences,  the  principal  causes  of  the  superiority  of 
civilised  men  are  to  be  found  in  inventions  which  when  once 
discovered  can  never  pass  away,  and  the  efiects  of  which  are 
in  consequence  in  a  great  measure  removed  from  the  fluctua- 
tions of  moral  life.  The  causes  which  most  disturbed  or 
accelerated  the  normal  progi-ess  of  society  in  antiquity  were 
the  appearance  of  great  men,  in  modern  times  they  have  been 
the  appearance  of  great  inventions.  Printing  has  secured 
the  intellectual  achievements  of  the  past,  and  furnished  a  sure 
guarantee  of  future  pro,gress.  Gunpowder  and  military 
machinery  have  rendered  the  triumph  of  barbarians  impossi- 
ble. Steam  has  united  nations  in  the  closest  bonds.  Innu- 
merable mechanical  contrivances  have  given  a  decisive  pre- 
ponderance  to  that  industrial  element  which  has  coloured  all 
the  developments  of  our  civilisation.  The  leading  character- 
istics of  modern  societies  are  in  consequence  marked  out 
much  more  by  the  triumphs  of  inventive  skill  than  by  the 
sustained  energy  of  moral  causes. 

Now  it  will  appear  evident,  I  think,  to  those  who  reflect 
carefully  upon  theii^  own  minds,  and  upon  the  coui^se  of 
history,  that  these  three  things,  the  study  of  physical  science, 
inventive  skill,  and  industrial  enterprise,  arc  connected  in 
such  a  manner,  that  when  in  any  nation  there  is  a  long-suo 
mined  tendency  towards  one,  the  others  will  naturally  follow. 
This  connection  is  partly  that  of  cause  and  eSect,  for  success 
in  either  of  these  branches  ftioilitates  success  in  the  others,  a 


THE    NATURAL    UISTORY    OF    MORALS.  127 

knowledge  of  natural  laws  being  the  basis  of  many  of  the 
most  important  inventions,  and  being  itself  acquired  by  the 
aid  of  instruments  of  lesearch,  while  industry  is  manifestly 
indebted  to  Ijoth.  But  besides  this  connection,  there  is  a 
connection  of  congruity.  The  same  cast  or  habit  of  thought 
derelopes  itself  in  these  thi-ee  forms.  They  all  rejn-esent  the 
natural  tendencies  of  what  is  commonly  called  the  practical 
as  opposed  to  the  theoretical  mind,  of  the  inductive  or  experi- 
mental as  opposed  to  the  deductive  or  ideal,  of  the  cautious 
and  the  plodding  as  opposed  to  the  imaginative  and  the  am- 
bitious, of  the  mind  that  tends  naturally  to  matter  as  opposed 
to  that  which  dwells  naturally  on  ideas.  Among  the  ancients, 
the  distaste  for  physical  science,  which  the  belief  in  the  capri- 
cious divine  government  of  all  natural  phenomena,  and  the 
distaste  for  industrial  enterprise  which  slavery  produced, 
conspired  to  favour  the  philosophical  tendency,  while  among 
the  moderns  physical  science  and  the  habits  of  industrial  life 
continually  react  upon  one  another. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  the  intellectual  tendencies 
of  modern  times  are  far  superior  to  those  of  antiquity,  both 
in  respect  to  the  matei-ial  prosperity  they  effect,  and  to  the 
uninterrupted  progi-ess  they  secure.  Upon  the  other  hand, 
it  is,  I  think,  equally  unquestionable  that  this  superiority  is 
purchased  by  the  sacrifice  of  something  of  dignity  and  eleva- 
tion of  character.  It  is  when  the  cultivation  of  mental  and 
moral  qua  ities  is  deemed  the  primary  object,  when  the  mind 
and  its  interests  are  most  removed  from  the  things  of  sense, 
that  great  characters  are  most  frequent,  and  the  standard  of 
heroism  is  most  high.  In  this,  as  in  other  cases,  the  law  of 
congruity  is  supreme.  The  mind  that  is  concentrated  most 
on  the  properties  of  matter,  is  predisposed  to  derive  all  ideas 
from  the  senses,  while  that  which  dwells  naturally  upon  its 
own  operations  inclines  to  an  ideal  philosophy,  and  the  pre- 
vailing system  of  morals  depends  largely  upon  the  distinction. 

In  the  next  place,  we  may  observe  that  the  practical 


128  HISTOiiy    OF    EUROrEAN    MORAL?. 

conj^Gcjueuces,  SO  far  as  ethics  are  concerned,'  of  the  opposition 
between  the  two  great  schools  of  morals,  are  less  than  might 
be  infeiTed  from  the  intellectual  chasm  that  separates  them. 
Moralists  gi-ow  up  in  the  atmosphere  of  society,  and  expe- 
rience all  the  common  feelings  of  other  men.  Whatever 
theory  of  the  genesis  of  morals  they  may  form,  they  commonly 
recognise  as  right  the  broad  moral  principles  of  the  world,  and 
they  endeavour — though  I  have  attempted  to  show  not  always 
successfully — to  prove  that  these  principles  may  be  accounted 
for  and  justified  by  theii-  system.  The  great  practical  differ- 
ence between  the  schools  lies,  not  in  the  difference  of  the 
virtues  they  inculcate,  but  in  the  different  degrees  of  promi- 
nence they  assign  to  each,  in  the  different  casts  of  mind  they 
represent  and  promote.  As  Adam  Smith  observed,  a  system 
like  that  of  the  Stoics,  which  makes  self-control  the  ideal  of 
excellence,  is  especially  favourable  to  the  heroic  qualities,  a 
system  like  that  of  Hutcheson,  which  resolves  virtue  into 
benevolence,  to  the  amiable  qualities,  and  utilitaiian  systems 
to  the  industrial  virtues.  A  society  in  which  any  one  of 
these  three  forms  of  moral  excellence  is  especially  prominent, 
has  a  natural  tendency  towards  the  con-esponding  theory  of 
ethics ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  this  theory,  when  formed, 
reacts  upon  and  strengthens  the  moral  tendency  that  elicited 
it.  The  Epicureans  and  the  Stoics  can  each  claim  a  gi-eat 
historical  fact  in  theii-  favour.  When  every  other  Greek 
school  modified  or  abandoned  the  teaching  of  its  founder,  the 
disciples  of  Epicurus  at  Athens  preserved  theii-  hereditary 
faith  unsullied  and  unchansred.^     On  the  other  hand,  in  the 


*  I  make  this  qualification,  be-  ^  3^^  ^\^q  forcible  passage  in  the 
cjuise  1  believe  that  the  denial  of  life  of  Epicurus  by  Diogenes  Laer- 
p.  moral  nature  in  man  capable  of  tius.  So  Mackintosh:  'It  is  re- 
perceiving  the  distinction  between  markable  that,  -ohile,  of  the  three 
duty  and  interest  and  the  rightful  profes«!ors  who  sat  in  the  Porch 
supremacy  of  the  former,  is  both  from  Zeno  to  Posidonius,  every  one 
philosophically  ttnd  actually  sub-  either  softened  or  exaggerated  the 
re rsi  re  of  natural  theology.  doctrines   of  his  predecessor,  and 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  129 

nnmaii,  empire,  almost  every  gi'eat  character,  almost  e\'ery 
effort  in  the  cause  of  liberty,  emanated  from  the  1-an.ks  of 
Stoicism,  wliile  Epicureanism  was  continually  identified  with 
corruption  and  with  tyranny.  The  intuitive  schoo\  not 
having  a  clear  and  simple  external  standard,  has  often  proved 
somewhat  liable  to  assimilate  with  superstition  and  mysticism, 
to  become  fantastic,  unreasoning,  and  unpractical,  while  the 
promiuence  accorded  to  interest,  and  the  constant  intervention 
of  calculation  lq  utilitarian  systems,  have  a  tendency  to  de- 
press the  ideal,  and  give  a  sordid  and  unheroic  ply  to  the 
character.  The  first,  dwelling  on  the  moral  initiative,  elevates 
the  tone  and  standard  of  life.  The  second,  revealing  the  in- 
fluence of  suiTOunding  circumstances  upon  character,  leads  to 
the  most  important  practical  reforms.^  Each  school  has  thus 
proved  in  some  sense  at  once  the  corrective  and  the  comple- 
ment of  the  other.  Each  when  pushed  to  its  extreme  results, 
produces  evils  wliich  lead  to  the  reappearance  of  its  rival. 
Having  now  considered  at  some  length  the  nature  and 


while  the  lieautiful  and  reverend  ilhvstration  of  the  emphasis  with 

philosophy  of  Plato  had  in  his  own  wliich  this   school    dwells  on    the 

Academy   degenerated  into  a  seep-  moral  importance  of  institutions  in 

ticism  which  did  not  spare  morality  a  memoir  of  M.  De  Tracy,  On  the 

itself,  the  system  of  Epicurits  re-  best    Plan  of  National   Education, 

main^'d  without  change ;  his  disci-  which  appeared  first  towards  the 

pies  contiimed  for   ages   to   show  close   of  the    French   Eevolution, 

personal  honour  to  his  memory  in  and  was  reprinted  during  the  Be- 

a  manner  which  may  seem  unac-  storation.    The   author,   who   was 

countable  among  those  who  were  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 

taught    to    measure   propriety    by  the  disciples  of  Condillac,  argued 

a  calculation  of  palpable  and  out  that  the  most  efficient  of  all  ways 

ward  usefulness.' — Dissertation  on  of  educating  a  people  is,  the  esta- 

Ethical  Philosojyki/,  p.  85,  ed.  1836.  blishmentof  a  good  system  of  police, 

See,  too,  Teiinemann  {Manuel de  la  for  the  constant  association  of  the 

Philosophie,  ed.  Cousin,  tome  i.  p.  ideas  of  crime  and  punishment  in 

211).  the  minds  of  the  masses  is  tb.e  one 

'    Thus    e.g.    the    magnificent  effectual  method  of  creating  morril 

chapters  of  Helvetius  on  the  moral  habits,  which  will  continue  to  act 

effects  of  despotism,   form  one  of  when   the   fear   of  punishmeu*;  ii 

tiie  best  molern   contributions  to  removed. 
pob>ical  ethics.    We  have  a  eurio7is  ^ 


130  HISTORY    OF   EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

tendencies  of  the  theories  according  to  which  men  test  and 
classify  theii*  moral  feelinsjs,  we  may  pass  to  an  examination 
of  the  process  according  to  which  these  feelings  are  developed, 
or,  in  other  words,  of  the  causes  that  lead  societies  to  elevate 
their  moral  standard  and  determine  theii-  preference  of  some 
particular  kinds  of  virtue.  The  observations  I  have  to  offer 
on  this  subject  will  be  of  a  somewhat  miscellaneous  character, 
but  they  will  all,  I  trust,  tend  to  show  the  nature  of  the 
changes  that  constitute  moral  history,  and  to  furnish  us  with 
some  general  principles  which  may  be  applied  in  detail  in  the 
succeeding  chapters. 

It  is  sufficiently  evident,  that,  in  proportion  to  the  high 
organisation  of  society,  the  amiable  and  the  social  virtues 
will  be  cultivated  at  the  expense  of  the  heroic  and  the  ascetic. 
A  courageous  endurance  of  suffering  is  probably  the  first 
form  of  human  virtue,  the  one  conspicuous  instance  in  savage 
life  of  a  course  of  conduct  opposed  to  natiu-al  impulses,  and 
pursued  through  a  belief  that  it  is  higher  or  nobler  than  the 
opposite.  In  a  disturbed,  disorganised,  and  warlike  society, 
acts  of  great  courage  and  great  endurance  are  very  frequent, 
and  determine  to  a  very  large  extent  the  course  of  events ; 
but  in  proportion  to  the  organisation  of  communities  the 
occasions  for  their  display,  and  their  influence  when  displayed, 
are  alike  restricted.  Besides  this  the  tastes  and  habits  of 
civilisation,  the  innumerable  inventions  designed  to  promote 
comfort  and  diminish  pain,  set  the  cuirent  of  society  in  a 
direction  altogether  different  from  heroism,  and  somewhat 
emasculate,  though  they  refine  and  soften,  the  character. 
Asceticism  again — including  under  tliis  term,  not  merely  the 
monastic  system,  but  also  all  efforts  to  withdraw  from  the 
world  in  order  to  cultivate  a  high  degree  of  sanctity — belongs 
naturally  to  a  society  which  is  somewhat  rude,  and  in  which 
isolation  is  frequent  and  easy.  When  men  become  united  in 
very  close  bonds  of  co-operation,  when  industrial  enterprise 
becomes  very  ardent,  and  the  prevailing  impulse  is  strong]} 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS. 


131 


towards  material  wealth  and  luxurious  enjoyments,  virtue  ia 
i^garded  chiefly  or  so'.ely  in  the  light  of  the  interests  of 
society,  and  this  tendency  is  still  further  strengthened  b}'  the 
vjducational  influence  of  legislation,  which  imprints  moral 
distinctions  very  deeply  on  the  mind,  but  at  the  same  time 
a(  customs  men  to  measure  them  solely  by  an  external  and 
utilitarian  standard.^  The  first  table  of  the  law  gives  way 
to  the  second.  Good  is  not  loved  for  itself,  but  as  the  means 
to  an  end.  All  that  virtue  which  is  requii-ed  to  form  up- 
right and  benevolent  men  is  in  the  highest  degree  useful  to 
society,  but  the  qualities  which  constitute  a  saintly  or 
spiritual  character  as  distinguished  from  one  that  is  simply 
moral  and  amiable,  have  not  the  same  dii-ect,  uniform  and 
manifest  tendency  to  the  promotion  of  happiness,  and  they 
are   accordingly  little  valued.^      In  savage  life  the  animal 


•  An  important  intellectual  re- 
vohition  is  at  present  taking  place 
in  England.  The  asceiiilency  in 
literary  and  philosophical  questions 
which  belonged  to  the  writers  of 
books  is  manifestly  passing  in  a 
very  great  degree  to  weekly  and 
even  daily  p.ipers,  which  have  long 
been  supreme  in  politics,  and  have 
begun  within  the  lust  ten  years 
Bystematically  to  treat  ethical  and 
philosophical  questions.  From 
their  immense  circulation,  their 
incontestable  ability  and  the  power 
they  possess  of  continually  reite- 
rating their  distinctive  doctrines, 
from  the  impatience,  too,  of  long 
and  elaborate  writings,  which 
newspapers  generate  in  the  puljlic, 
it  has  como  to  pass  that  these 
periodicals  exercise  probably  a 
greater  influence  than  any  otlier 
productions  of  the  day,  in  forming 
the  ways  of  thinking  of  ordinary 
eilucated  Ecglishmen.  The  many 
consequences,  good  and  evil,  of  this 
change  it  will  be  the  duty  of  future 


literary  historians  to  trace,  but 
there  is  one  which  is,  I  think, 
much  felt  in  the  sphere  of  ethics. 
An  important  effect  of  these  jour- 
nals has  been  to  evoke  a  large 
amoutit  of  literary  talent  in  the 
lawyer  class.  Men  whose  profes- 
sional duties  would  render  it  im- 
possible for  them  to  write  long 
books,  are  quite  capable  of  treating 
philosophical  subjects  in  the  form 
of  short  essays,  and  have  in  fact 
become  conspicuous  in  these  peri- 
odicals. There  has  seldom,  I  think, 
before,  been  a  time  when  la^vyers 
occupied  such  an  important  lite- 
rary position  as  at  present,  or  when 
legal  ways  of  thinking  had  so  great 
an  influence  over  English  philoso- 
phy ;  and  this  fact  has  been  emi- 
nently favourable  to  the  progress 
of  utilitarianism. 

^  'Ihere  are  some  good  remarks 
on  this  point  in  the  very  striking 
chapter  on  the  present  condition 
of  Christiani  y  in  Wilberforca's 
Practical  J'itv. 


[32       -  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

riatm-e  being  supreme,  these  higher  qualities  are  u^iknown, 
In  a  very  elaborate  material  civilisation  the  prevailing  atmo- 
sphere is  not  favourable  either  to  theii-  production  or  their 
appreciation.  Their  place  has  usually  been  in  an  interme- 
diate stage. 

On  the  o'"her  hand,  there  are  certain  virtues  that  are  the 
natural  product  of  a  cultivated  society.  Independently  of 
all  local  and  special  cii'cumstances,  the  ti-ansition  of  men 
from  a  barbarous  or  semi-ci\alised  to  a  highly  organised  state 
necessarily  brings  with  it  the  destruction  or  abridgment  of 
the  legitimate  sphere  of  revenge,  by  transferiing  the  office  of 
punishment  from  the  wronged  person  to  a  passionless  tribunal 
appointed  by  society ; '  a  growing  substitution  of  pacific  for 
warlike  occupations,  the  introduction  of  refined  and  intel- 
lectual tastes  which  gradually  displace  amusements  that 
derive  theii'  zest  from  their  barbarity,  the  i-apid  multiplica- 
tion of  ties  of  connection  between  all  classes  and  nations, 
and  also  the  strengthening  of  the  imagination  by  intellectual 
culture.  This  last  foculty,  considered  as  the  power  of  reali- 
sation, forms  the  chief  tie  between  our  moral  and  intellectual 
natures.  In  order  to  pity  suffering  we  must  realise  it,  and 
the  intensity  of  our  compassion  is  usually  proportioned  to 
the  vividness  of  our  realisation.^  The  most  frightful  catas- 
trophe in  South  Amei-ica,  an  earthquake,  a  ship^vl•eck,  or  a 
battle,  will  elicit  less  compassion  than  the  death  of  a  single 
Lndi'V'idual  who  has  been  brought  prominently  before  our  eyes. 
To  this  cause  must  be  chiefly  ascribed  the  extraordinary 
measure  of  compassion  usually  bestowed  upon  a  conspicuous 


'  See  Reid's  Essays  on  the  Active  but  it  is  not,  I  think,  altogether 

Foicers.  iii.  4.  confined  to  that  sphere.    This  ques 

2  I   say   usually    proportioned,  tion    we    shall    have   occasion   to 

because  it  is,   I  believe,    p  ssible  examine  when  discussing  the  gla- 

for  men  to  realise  intensely  suffer-  diatorial    shows.       Most    cruelty, 

ing,   and  to  derive  pleasure  from  however,  springs  from  callousness, 

that  very  fact.     This  is  especially  which  is  simply  dulness  of  imagi- 

the  case  with   vindictive   cruelty,  nation. 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  .       133 

condemned  criminal,  the  affection  and  enthusiasm  that  centi-e 
upon  sovereigns,  and  many  of  the  glaiing  inconsistencies  of 
onr  historical  judgments.  The  recollection  of  some  isolated 
net  of  magnanimity  displayed  by  Alexander  or  Csesar  moves 
us  more  than  the  thought  of  the  30,000  Thebans  whom  the 
Macedonian  sold  as  slaves,  of  the  2,000  prisoners  he  crucified 
at  Tyre,  of  the  1,100,000  men  on  whose  corpses  the  Roman 
rose  to  fame.  Wrapt  in  ^hejpaJ[e  wiiidingrsheet  of  general 
terms  the  gi-eatest  tragedies  of  history  evokejgio  vivid  images 
in  our  minds,  and  it  is  only  by^]a^;eat  efiSrt  of  genius  that 
an  historian  can  galvanise  them  into  life.  The  irritation 
displayed  by  the  captive  of  St.  Helena  in  his  bickerings  wdth 
his  gaoler  affects  most  men  more  than  the  thought  of  the 
nameless  thousands  whom  his  insatiable  egotism  had  hurried  to 
the  grave.  Such  is  the  frailty  of  our  nature  that  we  are  more 
moved  by  the  tear^  of  some  captive  princess,  by  some  trifling 
biogi-aphical  incident  that  has  floated  down  the  stream  of 
history,  than  by  the  sorrows  of  all  the  countless  multitudes 
who  perished  beneath  the  sword  of  a  Tamerlane,  a  Bajazet, 
or  a  Zenghis  Khan. 

If  out-  benevolent  feelings  are  thus  the  slaves  of  our 
imaginations,  if  an  act  of  reaisation  is  a  necessary  antecedent 
and  condition  of  compassion,  it  is  obvious  that  any  influence 
that  augments  the  range  and  power  of  this  realising  facult}' 
is  favourable  to  the  amiable  vii-tues,  and  it  is  equally  evident 
that  education  has  in  the  highest  degree  this  efiect.  To  an 
uneducated  man  all  classes,  nations,  modes  of  thought  and 
existence  foreign  to  his  own  are  umealised,  while  every  in- 
crease of  knowledge  brings  with  it  an  increase  of  insight,  and 
therefore  of  sympathy.  But  the  addition  to  his  knowledge 
Ls  the  smallest  part  of  this  change.  The  realising  faculty  is 
itself  intensified.  Every  book  he  reads,  every  intellectual 
exercise  in  which  he  engages,  accustoms  him  to  rise  above  the 
3bjects  immediately  present  to  his  senses,  to  extend  his  reali- 
Bii.tions  into  new  spheres,  and  reproduce  in  his  imagination 


134  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

the  tiioagiits,  feelings,  and  charactei^  of  othei-s,  witli  a  vivid- 
ness ir 'conceivable  to  the  savage.  Hence,  in  a  gi-eat  degree, 
the  tact  wit.h  which  a  refined  mind  learns  to  discriminate 
and  adapt  itself  to  the  most  delicate  shades  of  feeling,  and 
hence  too  the  sensitive  humanity  with  which,  m.  proporticD 
to  their  civilisation,  men  realise  and  recoil  from  cruelty. 

We  have  here,  however,  an  important  distinction  to 
draw.  Under  the  name  of  cruelty  are  comprised  two  kinds 
of  vice,  altogether  different  in  their  causes  and  in  most  oi 
their  consequences.  There  is  the  cruelty  which  springs  from 
callousness  and  brutality,  and  there  is  the  ciiielty  of  vindic- 
tiveness.  The  first  belongs  chiefly  to  hard,  dull,  and  some- 
what lethargic  characters,  it  appears  most  frequeutly  in 
strong  and  conquering  nations  and  in  temperate  climates, 
and  it  is  due  in  a  very  great  degree  to  defective  realisation. 
The  second  is  rather  a  feminine  attribute,  it  is  usually  dis- 
played in  oppressed  and  sufiering  communities,  in  passionate 
natures,  and  in  hot  chmates.  Great  vindictiveness  is  often 
united  with  great  tenderness,  and  great  callousness  with 
gi-eat  magnanimity,  but  a  vindictive  nature  is  rarely  magna- 
nimous, and  a  brutal  nature  is  still  more  rarely  tender.  The 
ancient  Romans  exhibited  a  remarkable  combination  of  great 
callousness  and  gi'eat  magnanimity,  while  by  a  curious 
contrast  the  modern  Italian  character  verges  manifestly 
towards  the  opposite  combination.  Both  forms  of  cruelty 
are,  if  I  mistake  not,  diminished  with  advancing  civilisation, 
but  by  different  causes  and  in  different  degrees.  Calloua 
cruelty  disa]3pears  before  the  sensitiveness  of  a  cultivated 
imagination.  Vindictive  cruelty  is  diminished  by  the  sub- 
stitution of  a  penal  system  for  piivate  revenge. 

The  same  intellectual  culture  that  facilitates  the  realisa- 
tion of  suflfering,  and  therefore  produces  compassion,  faciU- 
tates  also  the  reah'sation  of  character  and  opinions,  and 
therefore  produces  charity.  The  gi-eat  majority  of  imcharit- 
able  judgments  in  the  world  may  be  traced  to  a  deficieucy  of 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  135 

imagination.  The  cliief  cause  of  sectarian  animosity,  is  the 
incapacity  of  most  men  to  conceive  hostile  systems  in  the 
light  in  which  they  appear  to  their  adherents,  and  to  enter 
into  the  enthusiasm  they  inspire.  The  acquisition  of  this 
power  of  intellectual  sympathy  is  a  common  accompaniment 
of  a  large  and  cultivated  mind,  and  wherever  it  exists,  it 
assuages  the  rancour  of  controversy.  The  severity  of  our 
judgment  of  criminals  is  also  often  excessive,  because  the 
imagination  finds  it  more  easy  to  realise  an  action  than  a 
state  of  mind.  Any  one  can  conceive  a  fit  of  drunkenness 
or  a  deed  of  violence,  but  few  persons  who  are  by  nature 
very  sober  or  very  calm  can  conceive  the  natural  disposition 
that  predisposes  to  it.  A  good  man  brought  up  among 
a"l  the  associations  of  virtue  reads  of  some  horrible  crime, 
his  imagination  exhausts  itself  in  depicting  its  cii-cumstances, 
and  he  then  estimates  the  guilt  of  the  ciiminal,  by  asking 
himself,  '  How  guilty  should  /  be,  were  I  to  perpetrate  such 
an  act  ?  '  To  realise  with  any  adequacy  the  force  of  a  passion 
we  have  never  experienced,  to  conceive  a  type  of  character 
radically  different  from  our  own,  above  all,  to  form  any 
just  appreciation  of  the  lawlessness  and  obtuseness  of  moral 
temperament,  inevitably  generated  by  a  vicious  education, 
requires  a  power  of  imagination  which  is  among  the  rarest 
of  human  endowments.  Even  in  judging  our  own  conduct, 
this  feebleness  of  imagination  is  sometimes  shown,  and  an 
old  man  recalling  the  foolish  actions,  but  having  lost  the 
power  of  realising  the  feelings,  of  his  youth,  may  be  very 
unjust  to  his  own  past.  That  which  makes  it  so  difficult 
for  a  man  of  strong  vicious  passions  to  unbosom  himself 
to  a  naturall}^  virtuous  man,  is  not  so  much  the  vii^tue  as 
the  ignorance  of  the  latter.  It  is  the  conviction  that  he 
cannot  possibly  understand  the  force  of  a  passion  he  has  never 
felt.  That  which  alone  renders  tolerable  to  the  mind  the 
thought  of  judgment  by  an  all-pure  Being,  is  the  union  of 
the  attribute  of  omniscience  with  that  of  purity,  for  perfect 


136  HISTORY    OF    ECROPEA>^    MORALS. 

knowledge  impKes  a  perfect  power  of  realisation.  The 
further  om*  analysis  extends,  and  the  more  our  realising 
faculties  are  cultivated,  the  more  sensible  we  become  of  the 
influence  of  circumstances  both  upon  character  and  upon 
opinions,  and  of  the  exaggerations  of  our  first  estimates  of 
moral  inequalities.  Strong  antipathies  are  thus  gradually 
softened  down.  Men  gain  much  in  charity,  but  they  lose 
something  in  zeal. 

We  may  push,  I  think,  this  vein  of  thought  one  step 
farther.  Our  imagination,  which  governs  our  affections,  has 
in  its  earlier  and  feebler  stages  little  power  of  gi^sping  ideas, 
except  in  a  personified  and  concrete  form,  and  the  power  of 
rising  to  abstractions  is  one  of  the  best  measures  of  intellec- 
tual progress.  The  beginning  of  writing  is  the  hieroglyphic 
or  symbolical  picture;  the  beginning  of  worship  is  fetishism 
or  idolatry;  the  beginning  of  eloquence  is  pictorial,  sensuous, 
and  metaphoiical ;  the  beginning  of  philosophy  is  the  myth. 
The  imagination  in  its  first  stages  concenti-ates  itself  on 
individuals ;  gradually  by  an  effort  of  abstraction  it  rises  to 
au  institution  or  well-defined  organisation ;  it  is  only  at  a 
very  advanced  stage  that  it  can  grasp  a  moral  and  intellectual 
principle.  Loyalty,  patriotism,  and  attachment  to  a  cosmo- 
politan cause  aie  therefore  three  forms  of  moral  enthusiasm 
respectively  appropriate  to  three  successive  stages  of  mental 
progress,  and  they  have,  I  think,  a  certain  analogy  to  idola- 
trous worsliip,  church  feeling,  and  moral  culture,  which  are 
the  central  ideas  of  three  stages  of  religious  history. 

The  reader  will  readily  understand  that  generalisations 
of  this  kind  can  pretend  to  nothing  more  than  an  approxi- 
mate truth.  Our  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  moral  progi-ess 
is  like  that  of  the  laws  of  climate.  We  lay  down  general 
lilies  about  the  temperature  to  be  expected  as  we  approach  or 
recede  from  the  equator,  and  experience  shows  that  they  are 
substantially  correct  ]  but  yet  an  e'evated  plain,  or  a  chain 
of  mountains,  or  the  neighbom-hood  of  the  sea,  wnll  often  iu 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  137 

some  degree  derange  our  calculations.  So,  too,  in  the  history 
of  moral  changes,  innumerable  special  agencies,  such  aa 
religious  or  political  institutions,  geogi'aphical  condit'ons,  tra- 
ditions, antipathies,  and  affinities,  exercise  a  certain  ictarding, 
accelerating,  or  deflecting  influence,  and  somewhat  modify 
ths  normal  progress.  The  proposition  for  which  1  am  con- 
tendiQg  is  simply  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  natural 
liistory  of  mora's,  a  defined  and  regular  order,  in  which  our 
moi-al  feelings  are  unfolded  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  there 
are  certain  groups  of  virtues  which  spring  spontaneously  out 
of  the  cu'cumstances  and  mental  conditions  of  an  uncivilised 
people,  and  that  there  are  others  which  are  the  normal  and 
appropriate  products  of  civilisation.  The  virtues  of  uncivi- 
lised men  are  recognised  as  viitues  by  civilised  men,  but  they 
are  neither  exhibited  in  the  same  perfection,  nor  given  the 
same  position  in  the  sca'e  of  duties.  Of  these  moral  changes 
none  are  more  obvious  than  the  gradual  decadence  of  heroism 
both  active  and  passive,  the  increase  of  compassion  and  of 
charity,  and  the  transition  from  the  enthusiasm  of  loyalty  to 
those  of  patriotism  and  liberty. 

Another  form  of  viitue  which  usually  increases  with  civi- 
lisation is  veracity,  a  term  which  must  be  regarded  as  in- 
cluding something  more  than  the  simple  avoidance  of  direct 
falsehood.  In  the  ordinary  intercouise  of  life  it  is  readily 
understood  that  a  man  is  ofi<ending  against  truth,  not  only 
when  he  utters  a  deliberate  falsehood,  but  also  when  in  his 
statement  of  a  case  he  suppresses  or  endeavours  to  conceal 
essential  facts,  or  makes  positive  assertions  without  having 
conscientiously  verified  their  gi-ounds.  The  earliest  form  in 
which  the  duty  of  veracity  is  enforced  is  probably  the  obser- 
vance of  vows,  which  occupy  a  position  of  much  prominence 
in  youthful  religions.  With  the  subsequent  progress  of  ci^;!- 
Usation,  we  find  the  successive  inculcation  of  three  forms  g/ 
veracity,  which  may  be  termed  respectively  industrial,  politi- 
cal,   and    philosophical.       By   the   fii'st    I    understand    that 

11 


138  HISTORY    OF    EUliOrEAN    MOliALS. 

accui'acy  of  statement  or  fidelity  to  engagements  which  is  com- 
monly meant  when  we  speak  of  a  truthful  man.  Though  in 
some  cases  sustained  by  the  strong  sense  of  honour  which 
accompanies  a  military  spirit,  this  form  of  veracity  is  usually 
the  special  virtue  of  an  industrial  nation,  for  although  indus- 
trial enterprise  affords  great  temptations  to  deception,  mutual 
confidence,  and  therefore  strict  truthfulness,  are  in  these 
occupations  so  transcendently  important  that  they  acquire 
in  the  minds  of  men  a  value  they  had  never  before  possessed. 
Veracity  becomes  the  first  virtue  in  the  moral  type,  and  no 
character  is  regarded  with  any  kind  of  approbation  in  which 
it  is  wanting.  It  is  made  more  tnan  any  other  the  test  dis- 
tinguishing a  good  from  a  bad  man.  We  accordingly  find 
that  even  where  the  impositions  of  trade  are  very  numerous, 
the  supreme  excellence  of  vei-acity  Ls  cordially  admitted  in 
theory,  and  it  is  one  of  the  first  virtues  that  every  man  as- 
pii-ing  to  moral  excellence  endeavours  to  cultivate.  This 
constitutes  probably  the  chief  moral  supcrioi-ity  of  nations 
pervaded  by  a  strong  industrial  spirit  over  nations  like  the 
Italians,  the  Spaniards,  or  the  Irish,  among  whom  that  spu'it 
is  wanting.  The  usual  characteristic  of  the  latter  nations  is  a 
certain  laxity  or  instability  of  character,  a  proneness  to  ex- 
aggeration, a  want  of  truthfulness  in  little  things,  an  infidelity 
to  engagements  from  which  an  Englishman,  educated  in  the 
habits  of  industrial  life,  readily  infers  a  complete  absence  of 
moral  principle.  But  a  larger  philosophy  and  a  deeper  ex- 
perience dispel  his  error.  He  finds  that  where  the  industrial 
spirit  has  not  penetrated,  truthfulness  rarely  occupies  in  the 
popular  mind  the  same  prominent  position  in  the  catalogue 
of  vii'tues.  ]  t  is  not  reckoned  among  the  fundamentals  of 
morality,  and  it  is  possible  and  even  common  to  find  in  those 
nations — what  would  be  scarcely  possible  in  an  industrial 
society — men  who  are  habitually  dishonest  and  imtruthful  in 
small  things,  and  whose  lives  are  nevertheless  influenced  by 
a  deep  religiuus  feeling,  and  adorned  by  the  consistent  prao- 


THE    NATURAL    HISTOllY    OF    MORALS.  139 

tice  of  som(}  of  the  most  difficult  and  most  painful  virtues. 
Trust  iu  Providence,  content  and  resignation  in  extreme 
[)0verty  and  suffering,  the  most  genuine  amiability  and  i  he 
most  sincere  readiness  to  assist  their  brethren,  an  adherence 
to  their  religious  opinions  which  no  persecutions  aud  no 
bribes  can  shake,  a  capacity  for  heroic,  transcendent,  and 
prolonged  self-sacrifice,  may  be  found  in  some  nations  in  mm 
who  are  habitual  liars  and  habitual  cheats. 

The  promotion  of  industrial  veracity  is  probably  the  single 
form  in  which  the  growth  of  manufactures  exercises  a  favour- 
able influence  upon  morals.  It  is  possible,  however,  for  this 
virtue  to  exist  in  great  perfection  without  any  corresponding 
growth  of  political  veracity,  or  in  other  words,  of  that  spirit 
of  impartiality  which  in  matters  of  controversy  desii-es  that 
all  opinions,  arguments,  and  facts  should  be  fully  and  fairly 
stated.  This  habit  of  what  is  commonly  termed  '  fair  play 
is  especially  the  characteristic  of  free  communities,  and  it  is 
pre-eminently  fostered  by  political  life.  The  practice  of  de- 
bate creates  a  sense  of  the  injustice  of  suppressing  one  side 
of  a  case,  which  gradually  extends  through  all  foims  of  in- 
tellectual life,  and  becomes  an  essential  element  in  the  national 
character.  But  beyond  all  this  there  is  a  still  higher  form  of 
intellectual  vii'tue.  By  enlarged  intellectual  culture,  es- 
pecially by  philosophic  studies,  men  come  at  last  to  pursue 
truth  for  its  own  sake,  to  esteem  it  a  duty  to  emancipate 
themselves  from  party  spii-it,  prejudices,  and  passion,  and 
through  love  of  truth  to  cultivate  a  judicial  spii-it  in  contro- 
versy. They  aspii-e  to  the  intellect  not  of  a  sectarian  but  of 
a  philosopher,  to  the  intellect  not  of  a  partisan  but  of  a  states- 
man. 

Of  these  three  forms  of  a  trutliful  spirit  the  two  last  may 
be  said  to  belong  exclusively  to  a  highly  civilised  society. 
The  last  especially  can  hardly  be  attained  by  any  but  a  cul- 
tivated mind,  and  is  one  of  the  latest  flowers  of  virtue  that 
bloom  in  the  human  heart.     The  growth,  however,  both  of 


140  HISTORY    OF    ECKOPEAN    MORALS. 

political  and  philosophical  veracity  has  been  unnaturally  itJ* 
tarded  by  the  opposition  of  theologians,  who  made  it  during 
many  centui-ies  a  main  object  of  their  policy  to  suppress  all 
writings  that  were  opposed  to  their  views,  and  who,  when 
this  power  had  escaped  their  grasp,  proceeded  to  discourage 
in  every  way  impartiality  of  mind  and  judgment,  and  to 
associate  it  with  the  notion  of  sin. 

To  the  observations  I  have  already  made  concerning  the 
moral  effects  of  industrial  life,  I  shall  at  present  add  but 
two.  The  first  is  that  an  industrial  spirit  creates  two  wholly 
different  types  of  character — a  thrifty  character  and  a  specu- 
lating character.  Both  types  grow  out  of  a  strong  sense  of 
the  value  and  a  strong  desire  for  the  attainment  of  material 
comforts,  but  they  are  profoundly  differeiit  both  in  their 
virtues  and  their  vices.  The  chief  characteristic  of  the  one 
type  is  caution,  that  of  the  other  enterprise.  Thriftiness  is 
one  of  the  best  regulators  of  life.  It  produces  order,  sobriety, 
mode]  ation,  self-resti-aint,  patient  industry,  and  all  that  cast 
of  viitues  which  is  designated  by  the  term  respectability ; 
but  it  has  also  a  tendency  to  form  contracted  and  ungenerous 
natures,  incapable  of  enthusiasm  or  lively  sympathy.  The 
speculating  character,  en  the  other  hand,  is  restless,  fiery,  and 
micei-tain,  very  liable  to  fall  into  great  and  conspicuous  vices, 
.mpatient  of  routine,  but  by  no  means  unfavourable  to  strong 
feelings,  to  great  generosity  or  resolution.  WTiich  of  these 
two  forms  the  industrial  spirit  assumes  depends  upon  local 
circumstances.  Thriftiness  flourishes  chiefly  among  men 
placed  outside  the  great  stream  of  commerce,  and  in  positions 
where  wealth  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  slow  and  steady  in- 
dustry, while  the  speculating  character  is  most  common  in 
the  great  centres  of  enterprise  and  of  wealth. 

In  the  next  place,  it  may  be  remarked  that  industrial 
haliits  bring  forethought  into  a  new  position  in  the  moral 
type.     In  early  stages  of  theological  belief,  men  regarding 


THE    >ATURAL    IflSTORY    OF    MORALS.  141 

eveiy  incident  that  happens  to  them  as  the  result  of  a  sptcial 
divine  deciee,  sometimes  esteem  it  a  test  of  faith  and  a  form 
of  duty  to  take  no  precautions  for  the  future,  but  to  leave 
questions  of  food  and  clothing  to  Providential  interposition. 
On  the  other  hand,  in  an  industrial  civilisation,  prudent 
forethought  is  regarded  not  simply  as  lawful,  but  as  a  duty, 
and  a  duty  of  the  very  highest  order.  A  good  man  of  the 
industrial  type  deems  it  a  duty  not  to  marry  till  he  has  en- 
sured the  maintenance  of  a  possible  family  ;  if  he  possesses 
childi-en,  he  regulates  his  expenses  not  simply  by  the  relation 
of  his  income  to  his  immediate  wants,  but  with  a  constant 
view  to  the  education  of  his  sons,  to  the  portioning  of  his 
daughters,  to  the  future  necessities  and  careers  of  each  mem- 
ber of  his  family.  Constant  forethought  is  the  guiding 
principle  of  his  whole  life.  No  single  circumstance  is  re- 
gai-ded  as  a  better  test  of  the  civilisation  of  a  people  than  the 
extent  to  which  it  is  diffused  among  them.  The  old  doctrine 
vii'tually  disappears,  and  is  interpreted  to  mean  nothing 
moi-e  than  that  w^e  should  accept  with  resignation  what  no 
efforts  and  no  forethought  could  avert. 

This  change  is  but  one  of  several  influences  which,  as 
civilisation  advances,  diminish  the  spiiit  of  reverence  among 
mankind.  Eeverence  is  one  of  those  feelings  which,  in 
utilitarian  systems,  would  occupy  at  best  a  very  ambiguous 
position ;  for  it  is  extremely  questionable  whether  the  great 
evils  that  have  gi^own  out  of  it  in  the  form  of  religious  super- 
stition and  political  servitude  have  not  made  it  a  source  of 
moi-e  unhappiness  than  happiness.  Yet,  however  doubtful 
may  be  its  position  if  estimated  by  its  bearing  on  happiness 
and  on  progress,  there  are  few  persons  who  are  not  conscious 
that  no  character  can  attain  a  supi-eme  degree  of  excellence 
in  which  a  reverential  spirit  is  wanting.  Of  all  the  forms  of 
in  ^ral  goodness  it  is  that  to  which  the  epithet  beautiful  ma^ 
be  most  emphatically  applied.     Yet  the  habits  of  advancing 


142  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

civilisation  are,  if  I  mistake  not,  on  the  whole  ijiimical  to  its 
growth.  For  reverence  grows  out  of  a  sense  of  constant 
dependence.  It  is  fostered  by  that  condition  of  religions 
thought  in  which  men  believe  that  each  incident  that  befalls 
them  is  directly  and  specially  ordained,  and  when  every 
event  is  therefore  fraught  with  a  moral  import.  It  is  fostered 
by  that  condition  of  scientific  knowledge  in  which  every  por- 
tentous natural  phenomenon  is  supposed  to  be  the  result  of  a 
direct  divine  intei-position,  and  awakens  in  consequence  emo- 
tions of  humility  and  awe.  It  is  fostered  in  that  stage  of 
political  life  when  loyalty  or  reverence  for  the  sovereign  is 
the  dominating  i)assion,  when  an  aristocracy,  branching  forth 
from  the  throne,  spreads  habits  of  deference  and  subordina- 
tion through  every  village,  when  a  revolutionary,  a  democratic, 
and  a  sceptical  spirit  are  alike  unknown.  Every  great  change, 
either  of  belief  or  of  circumstances,  brings  with  it  a  change 
of  emotions.  The  self-assertion  of  liberty,  the  levelling  of 
demociacy,  the  dissocting-knife  of  criticism,  the  economical 
revolutions  that  reduce  the  relations  of  classes  to  simple  con- 
tracts, the  agglomeration  of  population,  and  the  facilities  of 
locomotion  that  sever  so  many  ancient  ties,  are  all  incompati- 
ble with  the  ty|De  of  virtue  which  existed  before  the  power 
of  tradition  was  broken,  and  when  the  chastity  of  faith  was 
yet  unstained.  Benevolence,  uprightness,  enterprise,  intel- 
lectual honesty,  a  love  of  freedom,  and  a  hatred  of  superstition 
are  growing  around  us,  but  we  look  in  vain  for  that  most 
beautiful  character  of  the  past,  so  distrustful  of  self,  and  so 
trustful  of  othei-s,  so  simple,  so  modest,  and  so  devout,  which 
even  when,  Ixion-like,  it  bestowed  its  affections  upon  a  cloud, 
made  its  very  illusions  the  source  of  some  of  the  purest 
virtues  of  our  nature.  In  a  few  minds,  the  contemplatior 
of  the  sublime  order  of  natiu-e  produces  a  reverential  feeling, 
but  to  the  great  majority  of  mankind  it  is  an  incontestable 
though  mournful  fact,  that  the  discovery  of  controlling  and 
unchanging  law  deprives  phenomena  of  their  moral   signifi- 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  1 4:-5 

caiice,  and  neai-ly  all  the  social  and  political  spheres  in  wliich 
reverence  was  fostered  have  passed  away.  Its  most  beautiful 
displays  are  not  in  nations  like  the  Americans  or  the  modern 
French,  who  have  thrown  themselves  most  fully  into  the 
tendencies  of  the  age,  but  rather  in  secluded  regions  like 
Styria  or  the  Tyrol.  Its  artistic  expression  is  found  in  no 
work  of  modern  genius,  but  in  the  mediaeval  cathedral,  which, 
mellowed  but  not  impaired  by  time,  still  gazes  on  us  in  it.q 
deathless  beauty  through  the  centuries  of  the  past.  A  super- 
stitious age,  like  evpry  other  phase  of  human  history,  has  its 
distinctive  \ii'taes,  which  must  necessarily  decline  bifore  a 
new  stage  of  progress  can  bs  attained. 

The  virtues  and  vices  growing  out  of  the  relation  between 
the  sexes  are  difficult  to  treat  in  general   terms,   both  on 
account  of  the  obvious  delicacy  of  the  subject,  and  also  be- 
cause theii-  natural  history  is  extremely  obscured  by  special 
causes.     In  the  moral  evolutions  we  have  as  yet  examined, 
the  normal  influences  are  most  powerful,  and  the  importance 
of  deranging  and  modifying  circumstances  is  altogether  sub- 
sidiary.    The  expansion  of  the  amiable  virtues,  the  decline  of  \ 
heroism  and  loyalty,  and  the  growth  of  industrial  habits  j 
spring  out  of  changes  which  necessarily  take  place  under  | 
almost  all  forms  of  civilisation,'  and  the  broad  featui-es  of  the  j 
movement  are  therefore  in  almost  all  nations  substantially^ 
the  same.     But  in  the  history  of  sensuality,  special  causes, 
such  as  slavery,  religious  doctrines,  or  laws  affecting  marriage, 
have  been  the  most  powerful  agents.     The  immense  changes 
efiected  in  this  field  by  the  Christian  religion  I  shall  hereafter 
examine.     In  the  present  chapter  I  shall  content  myself  with 
two  or  three  very  general   remarks  relating  to  the  nature  of 
the  vice,  and  to  the  effect  of  different  stages  of  civilisation 
apoD  its  progress. 


^  The  principal  exception  being     prevents  the  growth  of  industrial 
vhere    slavery,    coexisting     with     habits, 
ailvaoced    civilisation,    retards   or 


144  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

There  are,  I  conceive,  few  gi-eater  fallacies  than  are  in- 
volved in  the  method  so  popular  among  modern  writers  of 
judging  the  immorality  of  a  nation  by  its  statistics  of  illegiti- 
mate births.  Independently  of  the  obvious  defect  of  this 
method  in  excluding  simple  prostitution  from  our  comparison, 
it  altogether  neglects  the  fact  that  a  large  number  of  illegiti- 
mate births  arise  from  causes  totally  different  from  the  great 
violence  of  the  passions.  Such,  for  example,  is  the  notion 
prevailing  in  many  counti-y  districts  of  England,  that  the 
mariiage  ceremony  has  a  retrospective  A-ii-tue,  cancelling 
previous  immorality ;  and  such  too  is  the  custom  so  general 
among  some  classes  on  the  Continent  of  forming  permanent 
connections  without  the  sanction  either  of  a  legal  or  a  re- 
ligious ceremony.  However  deeply  such  facts  may  be  repre- 
hended and  deplored,  it  would  be  obviously  absurd  to  infer 
from  them  that  the  nations  in  which  they  are  most  promi- 
nent are  most  conspicuous  for  the  uncontrolled  violence  of 
their  sensual  passions.  In  Sweden,  which  long  ranked 
among  the  lowest  in  the  moral  scale,  if  measm^ed  by  the 
number  of  illegitimate  biiths,  the  chief  cause  appears  to 
have  been  the  difficulties  with  which  legislators  suirounded 
marriage.^  Even  in  displays  of  actual  and  violent  passion, 
there  are  distinctions  to  be  drawn  which  statistics  are  wholly 
unable  to  reach.  The  coarse,  cynical,  and  ostentatious  sensu- 
ality which  forms  the  most  repulsive  feature  of  the  French 
character,  the  di-eamy.  languid,  and  a^sthetical  sensuality  of 
the  Spaniard  or  the  Italian,  the  furtiA'e  and  retiring  sensuality 
Df  some  northern  nations,  though  all  forms  of  the  same  vice, 
are  widely  different  feelings,  and  exercise  widely  different 
^ects  upon  the  prevailing  disj^osition. 

In  addition  to  the  very  important  influence  upon  public 
morals   which    cHmate,  I    think,   undoubtedly   exercises    in 


'  See   iMr.  Laing's    Travels   in     to   have  had   a   similar   eflfect   in 
Sweden.     A   similar  cause  is  said     Bavaria. 


niE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  14,") 

Stimulating  or  allaying  the  passions,  it  has  a  povveiful  indi- 
rect action  upon  the  position,  character,  and  tastes  of  women, 
by  determining  the  prevalence  of  indoor  or  out-of-door  life, 
and  also  the  classes  among  whom  the  gift  of  beauty  is  diffused. 
In  northern  countries  the  prevailing  cast  of  beauty  depends 
lather  on  colour  than  on  form.  It  consists  chiefly  of  a  fresh- 
ness and  delicacy  of  complexion  which  severe  laboiu*  and 
constant  exposure  necessarily  destroy,  and  which  is  therefore 
rarely  found  in  the  highest  perfection  among  the  A^ery  poor. 
But  the  southern  type  is  essentially  democratic.  The  fierce 
rays  of  the  sun  only  mellow  and  mature  its  charms.  Its 
most  perfect  examples  may  be  found  in  the  hovel  as  in  the 
palace,  and  the  effects  of  this  diffusion  of  beauty  may  be 
traced  both  in  the  manners  and  the  morals  of  the  people. 

It  is  probable  that  the  observance  of  this  form  of  vil•t^^e 
is  naturally  most  strict  in  a  rude  and  semi-civilised  but  not 
barbarous  people,  and  that  a  very  refined  civilisation  is  not 
often  favourable  to  its  growth.  Sensuality  is  the  vice  of 
young  men  and  of  old  nations.  A  languid  epicureanism  is 
the  normal  condition  of  nations  which  have  attained  a  high 
intellectual  or  social  civilisation,  but  which,  through  political 
causes,  have  no  adequate  sphere  for  the  exertion  of  their 
energies.  The  tsmptat'on  arising  from  the  great  wealth  of 
some,  and  from  the  feverish  longing  for  luxury  and  exciting 
pleas irres  in  others,  which  exists  in  all  large  towns,  has  been 
peculiarly  fatal  to  fema^.e  virtue,  and  the  whole  tendency  of 
the  public  amusements  of  civilisation  is  in  the  same  direction. 
The  rude  combats  which  form  the  chief  enjoyments  of  bar- 
barians produce  cruelty.  The  dramatic  and  artistic  tastes 
and  the  social  habits  of  refined  men  produce  sensuality. 
Education  raises  many  poor  women  to  a  stage  of  refinement 
ill  at  makes  them  suitable  companions  for  men  of  a  higher 
r:ink.  and  not  suitable  for  chose  of  their  own.  Industrial 
pursuits  have,  indeed,  a  favourable  influence  in  promoting 
habits  of  self-restraint  and  especially  in  checking  the  licence 


146  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

of  militaiy  life ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  they  gi'eatly  iiicrca-sa 
temptation  by  encouraging  postponement  of  maiTiage,  and  in 
communities,  even  more  than  in  individuals,  moral  inequali- 
ties are  much  more  due  to  difierences  of  temptation  than  bo 
difhirences  of  self-restraint.  In  large  bodies  of  men  a  consider- 
able increase  of  temptation  always  brings  with  it  an  increase, 
though  not  necessarily  a  proportionate  increase,  of  vice. 
Among  the  checks  on  excessive  multiplication,  the  historical 
influence  of  voluntary  continence  has  been,  it  must  be  feared, 
ver}  small.  Physical  and  moral  evils  have  alone  been  deci- 
sive, and  as  these  form  the  two  opposite  weights,  we  unhappily 
very  frequently  find  that  the  diminution  of  the  one  has  been 
followed  by  the  increase  of  the  other.  The  nearly  universal 
custom  of  eariy  marriages  among  the  Irish  peasantry  has 
alone  rendei-ed  possible  that  high  standard  of  female  chastity 
that  intense  and  jealous  sensitiveness  respecting  female 
honour,  for  which,  among  many  failings  and  some  vices,  the 
Irish  poor  have  long  been  pre-eminent  in  Eui-ope  ;  but  these 
very  maiTiages  are  the  most  conspicuous  proofs  of  the  national 
improvidence,  and  one  of  the  most  fatal  obstacles  to  indus- 
trial prosperity.  Had  the  Ii-ish  peasants  been  less  chaste, 
they  \>'Ould  have  been  more  prosperous.  Had  that  fearful 
famine,  which  in  the  present  century  desolated  the  land, 
fallen  uj)on  a  people  who  thought  more  of  accumulating  sub- 
sistence than  of  avoiding  sin,  multitudes  might  now  be  liAdiig 
who  perished  by  literal  starvation  on  the  dreary  hills  of 
Limerick  or  Skibbereen. 

The  example  of  Ireland  furnishes  us,  however,  with  a 
remarkable  instance  of  the  manner  in  which  the  influence  of 
a  moral  feeling  may  act  beyond  the  cii'cumstances  that  gave 
it  birth.  There  is  no  fact  in  Irish  history  more  singular  tboii 
the  complete,  and,  I  believe,  unparalleled  absence  among  the 
Tiish  priesthood  of  those  moral  scandals  which  in  every  con- 
tinental country  occasionally  prove  the  danger  of  vows  of 
celibacy.     The  unsuspected  purity  of  the  Irish  priests  in  thia 


THE    I^\T[JRAL    HISTORY    OF    MORAL?.  147 

resjHJct  is  the  more  remarkable,  because,  the  goveri/mcnt  of 
the  country  being  Protestant,  there  is  no  special  in(i[uisitorial 
legislation  to  ensure  it,  because  of  the  almost  unbounded  in- 
fluence of  the  clergy  over  their  paiishioners,  and  also  because 
if  any  just  cause  of  suspicion  existed,  in  the  fierce  sectarianism 
of  Irish  public  opinion,  it  would  assuredly  be  magnified. 
Considerations  of  climate  are  quite  inadequate  to  explain 
this  fact;  but  the  chief  cause  is,  I  think,  sufliciently  obvious. 
The  habit  of  marrying  at  the  first  development  of  the  pas- 
sions has  produced  among  the  Irish  peasantry,  from  whom  the 
priests  for  the  most  part  spring,  an  extremely  strong  feeling 
of  the  iniquity  of  ii-regular  sexual  indulgence,  which  i-etains 
its  power  even  over  those  who  are  bound  to  perpetual  celibacy. 
It  will  appear  evident  from  the  foregoing  considerations 
that,  while  the  essential  nature  of  virtue  and  vice  is  un- 
altered, there  is  a  perpetual,  and  in  some  branches  an  orderly 
and  necessary  change,  as  society  advances,  both  in  the  pro- 
[)ortionate  value  attached  to  different  vii-tues  in  theory,  and 
in  the  perfection  in  which  they  are  realised  in  practice.  It 
will  appear  too  that,  while  there  may  be  in  societies  such  a 
thing  as  moral  improvement,  there  is  i-are'y  or  never,  on  a 
large  scale,  such  a  thing  as  unmixed  improvement.  We  may 
gain  more  than  we  lose,  but  we  always  lose  something. 
There  are  virtues  which  are  continually  dying  away  with  ad- 
vancing civilisation,  and  even  the  lowest  stage  possesses  its 
distinctive  excellence.  There  is  no  spectacle  more  piteous  or 
more  hon-ible  to  a  good  man  than  that  of  an  oppressed 
nationality  writhing  in  anguish  beneath  a  tyrant's  yoke ;  but 
there  is  no  condition  in  which  passionate,  unquestioning  self- 
sacrifice  and  heroic  courage,  ajid  the  true  sentiment  of 
fraternity  are  more  gi-andly  elicited,  and  it  is  probable  that 
the  triumph  of  liberty  will  in  these  forms  not  only  lessen  the 
moral  performances,  but  even  weaken  the  moral  capacities  of 
mankind.  War  is,  no  doubt,  a  fearful  evil,  but  it  is  the  seed- 
plot  of  magnanimous  virtues,  which  in  a  pacific  age  must 


148  HISTORY    OF    EUKOPEAN    :M0RAL?. 

v\dther  and  decay.  Even  the  gambling-table  fosters  among 
Its  more  skilful  votaries  a  kind  of  moral  nerve,  a  capacity  for 
hearing  losses  ^vith  calmness,  and  controlling  the  force  of 
the  desires,  which  is  scarcely  exhibited  in  equal  perfection  in 
any  other  sphere. 

There  is  slid  so  gi-eat  a  diversity  of  civilisation  in 
existing  nations  that  ti-aversing  tracts  of  space  is  a' most 
IlIlb  tra  /ersing  tracts  of  time,  for  it  brings  ns  in  contact  with 
living  representatives  of  nearly  every  phase  of  past  civilisa- 
tion. But  these  differences  are  rapidly  disappearing  before 
the  unparalleled  diffusion  and  simplification  of  knowledge, 
the  still  more  amazing  progress  iu  means  of  locomotion,  and 
the  political  and  military  cau>es  that  are  manifestly  con- 
verting Europe  into  a  federation  of  vast  centralised  and 
democi-atic  States.  Even  to  those  who  believe  that  the 
leading  changes  are  on  the  whole  beneficial,  there  is  much 
that  is  me'ancho'y  in  this  revolution.  Those  small  States 
wliich  w^U  soon  have  cUsappeared  from  the  map  of  Europe, 
besides  their  vast  superiority  to  most  gi-eat  empii-es  in  finan- 
cial prosperity,  in  the  material  well-being  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  in  many  cases  in  political  liberty,  pacific  tastes,  and 
intellectual  progress,  form  one  of  the  chief  refuges  of  that 
spiiit  of  content,  repose,  and  retrospective  reverence  which 
is  pre-eminently  wanting  in  modern  civilisation,  and  their 
security  is  in  every  age  one  of  the  least  equivocal  measm-es 
of  international  morality.  The  monastic  system,  however 
pernicious  when  enlarged  to  excess,  has  undoubtedly  contri- 
buted to  the  happiness  of  the  world,  by  supplying  an  asylum 
especially  suited  to  a  certain  type  of  character;  and  that 
vindictive  and  short-sighted  revolution  which  is  extirpating 
it  from  Europe  is  destroying  one  of  the  best  correctives  of  the 
excessive  industrialism  of  our  age.  It  is  for  the  advantage  of 
n  nation  that  it  should  attain  the  most  advanced  existing 
type  of  progress,  but  it  is  extremely  questionable  whether  it 
is  foi  the  advantage  of  the  community  at  lai-ge  that  all  nations 


THE  ^•ATU^AL  kistory  of  morals.  149 

Ehoiild  attain  the  same  tj}3e,  even  wlien  it  is  the  most  ad- 
vanced. The  intiiience  of  very  various  circumstances  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  perfect  moral  development.  Hence, 
one  of  the  great  po'itical  advantages  of  class  representation, 
which  brings  within  the  range  of  politics  a  fir  greater  variety 
both  of  capacities  and  moral  qualities  than  can  be  exhibited 
when  one  class  has  an  exclusive  or  overwhelmingly  prepon- 
derating influence,  and  also  of  heterogeneous  emph-es,  in 
which  different  degi-ees  of  civilisation  produce  different  kinds 
of  excellence  which  react  upon  and  complete  one  another.  In 
the  rude  work  of  India  and  Australia  a  type  of  character 
is  formed  which  England  could  ill  aflford  to  lose. 

The  remarks  I  have  now  made  will  be  sufficient,  I  hope, 
to  throw  some  light  upon  those  great  questions  concerning 
the  relations  of  intellectual  and  moral  progress  which  have 
of  late  years  attracted  so  large  an  amount  of  attention.  It 
has  been  contended  that  the  historian  of  human  progress 
should  concentrate  his  attention  exclusively  on  the  intellec- 
tual elements ;  for  thei-e  is  no  such  thing  as  moi-al  history, 
morals  being  essentially  stationary,  and  the  rudest  barbarians 
being  in  this  respect  as  far  advanced  as  ourselves.  In 
opposition  to  this  view,  I  have  maintained  that  while  what 
may  be  termed  the  primal  elements  of  morals  are  unaltered, 
there  is  a  perpetual  change  in  the  standard  which  is  exacted, 
and  also  in  the  relative  va^ue  attached  to  particular  virtues, 
and  that  these  changes  constitute  one  of  the  most  important 
bi-anches  of  general  history.  It  has  been  contended  by  other 
A\Titers  that,  aHhough  such  changes  do  take  p^ace,  and 
although  they  play  an  extremely  great  part  in  the  world, 
they  must  be  looked  upon  as  the  result  of  intellectual  causes, 
changes  in  knowledge  producing  changes  in  mora\s.  In  this 
Aiew,  as  we  have  seen,  there  is  some  truth,  but  it  can  only, 
I  think,  be  accepted  with  gi-eat  qualification.  It  is  one  of  the 
plainest  of  facts  that  neither  the  uidi vidua' s  nor  the  ages  i 
most  distinguished  for  iatellectual  achievements  have  bei^u 


150  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

oiost  distinguisliftd  for  moral  excellence,  and  that  a  kigh 
intellectual  and  material  civilisation  has  often  coexisted 
with  much  depravity.  In  some  respects  the  conditions  of 
intellectual  gi'owth  are  not  favoui-able  to  moi-al  growth. 
The  agglomeration  of  men  in  gi-eat  cities  —which  are  always 
the  centres  of  progi-ess  and  enlightenment — is  one  of  the 
most  impoi-tant  causes  of  material  and  intellectual  advance  : 
but  great  towns  are  the  peculiar  seed-plots  of  vice,  and  it  is 
extremely  questionable  whether  they  produce  any  special  and 
equivalent  efflorescence  of  virtue,  for  even  the  social  vii-tues 
are  probably  more  cultivated  in  small  populations,  where 
men  live  in  more  intimate  relations.  Many  of  the  most 
splendid  outbursts  of  moral  enthusiasm  ruay  be  traced  to  an 
overwhelming  force  of  conviction  rarely  foimd  in  very  culti- 
vated minds,  which  are  keenly  sensible  to  possibilities  of 
error,  conflicting  arguments,  and  qualifying  cii-cumstauces. 
Civilisation  has  on  the  whole  been  more  successful  in  repress- 
ing crime  than  in  repressing  vice.  It  is  very  favourable  to 
the  gentler,  charitable,  and  social  virtues,  and,  wfiere  s\'\^'ery 
does  not  exist,  to  the  industrial  virtues,  and  it  is  the  esi:K3cial 
nurse  of  the  intellectual  vii-tues ;  but  it  is  in  general  not 
equally  favourable  to  the  production  of  self-sacrilice,  enthu- 
siasm, reverence,  or  chastity. 

The  moral  changes,  however,  which  are  effected  by  civili- 
sation may  ultimately  be  ascribed  chiefly  to  intellectual  causes, 
for  these  lie  at  the  root  of  the  whole  structure  of  civilised 
life.  Sometimes,  as  we  have  seen,  intellectual  causes  act 
directly,  but  more  frequently  they  have  only  an  indirect  in- 
fluence, producing  habits  of  life  wliich  in  theii'  tui*n  produce 
new  conceptions  of  duty.  The  morals  of  men  are  more  go- 
verued  by  tlieii*  piu'suits  than  by  their  opinions.  A  type  of 
virtue  is  first  formed  by  cii^cumstances,  and  men  afterward.^ 
tuake  it  the  model  upon  which  their  theories  are  framed. 
Thus  geographical  or  other  circumstances,  that  make  one 
uatiou  military  and  another  industrial,  will  produce  in  each 


TilH    NATUIIAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  151 

ji  re<)]Lseil  tjije  of  excellence,  and  corresponding  conceptions 
ftbout  the  relative  importance  of  diflferent  vii'tues  widely 
different  fi'om  those  which  are  produced  in  the  other,  and 
tliis  may  be  the  case  although  the  amount  of  knowledge  in 
the  two  communities  is  substantially  equal. 

Having  discussed  these  questions  as  fully  as  the  nature  of 
my  subject  requii'es,  I  will  conclude  this  chapter  by  noticing 
a  few  very  prevalent  errors  in  the  moral  judgments  of  history, 
and  will  also  endeavour  to  elucidate  some  impoi'tant  conse- 
quences that  may  be  deduced  from  the  nature  of  moral  tyj^es. 

It  is  probable  that  the  moral  standard  of  most  men  is       ^ 
much  lower  in  political  judgments  than  in  private  matters  in       | 
which  their  own  interests  are  concerned.     There  is  nothing        ' 
more  common  than  for  men  who  in  private  life  are  models  of       0 
the  most  scrupulous  integrity  to  justify  or  excuse  the  most         I 
flagi^ant  acts  of  political  dishonesty  and   violence;  and  wo        | 
should  be  altogether  mistaken  if  we  argued  rigidly  from  such 
approvals  to  the  general  moral  sentiments  of  those  who  utter 
them.     Not  unfrequently  too,  by  a  curious  moral  paradox, 
political  crimes  are  closely  connected  with  national  vii-tues. 
A  people  who  ai-e  submissive,  gentle,  and  loyal,  fall  by  reason 
of  these  very  qualities  under  a  despotic  government ;  but  this 
uncontrolled  power  has  never  failed  to  exercise  a  most  perni- 
cious influence  on  rulers,  and  their  numerous  acts  of  rapacity    \    y 
and  aggression  being  attributed  in  history  to  the  nation  they 
represent,  the  national  character  is  wholly  misinterpreted.* 
There  are  also  particular  kinds  both  of  vii-tue  and  of  vice 
which  appear  prominently  before  the  world,  while  others  of 
at  least  equal  influence  almost  escape  the  notice  of  histoiy. 
Thus,  for  example,  the  sectarian  animosities,  the  horrible  per- 
secutions, the  blind  hatred  of  progress,  the  ungenerous  sup])oit 
of  every  galling  disquaUlication  and  restraint,  the   intense 
class  selfishness,  the  obstinately  protracted  defence  of  intellee 


Thi«5  has  been,  I  think,  especially  the  case  with  the  Austrians. 


152  flISTORT    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

hial  and  political  superstition,  the  childish  but  whimsically  fero- 
cious quarrels  about  minute  dogmatic  distinctions,  or  dresses. 
or  candlesticks,  which  constitute  together  the  main  featiu-es  of 
ecclesiastical  history,  might  naturally,  though  very  unjustly, 
lead  men  to  place  the  ecclesiastical  type  in  almost  the  lowest 
i-ank,  both  intellectaally  and  morally.    These  are,  in  fact,  the 
displays  of  ecclesiastical  influence  which  stand  in  bold  relief 
in  the  pages  of  history.     The  ciATilising  and  moralising  in- 
fluence of  the  clergyman  in  his  parish,  the  simple,  unostenta- 
tious, unselfish  zeal   with  which  he  educates  the  ignorant, 
guides  the  endng,  comforts  the  sorrowing,  braves  the  horrors 
of  pestilence,  and  sheds  a  hallowing  influence  over  the  dying 
hour,  the  countless  ways  in  which,  in  his  little  sphere,  he 
allays  evil  passions,  and  softens  manners,  and  elevates  and 
purifies  those  around  him— a'l  these  things,  though  very  evi- 
dent to  the  detailed  observer,  do  not  stand  out  in  the  same 
vivid  prominence  in  historical  records,  and  are  continually 
for<yotten  by   historians.     It  is   always  hazardous   to    argue 
from  the  character  of  a  coi-poration  to  the  character  of  the 
members  who  compose  it,  but  in  no  other  case  is  this  method 
of  judgment  so  fallacious  as  lq  the  history  of  ecclesiastics,  for 
there  is  no  other  class  whose  distiuctive  excellences  are  less 
apparent,  and  whose    mental   and  moral    defects   are   more 
glaringly  conspicuous  in  corporate  action.  In  diflerent  nations, 
again,  the  motives  of  vii-tue  are  widely  difierent,  and  serious 
misconceptions  arise  from  the  application  to  one  nation  of  the 
measure  of  another.     Thus  the  chief  national  vii-tues  of  the 
French    people   result  from  an  intense  power  of  sympathy, 
which  is  also  the  foundation  of  some  of  their  most  beautiful 
intellectual  qualities,  of  their  social  habits,  and  of  their  un- 
rivalled influence  in  Eui'ope.     No  other  nation  has  so  halji- 
tual  and  vivid  a  sympathy  A\ith  great  struggles  for  freedom 
beyond  its  border.     No  other  literature  exhibits  so  expansive 
and  oecamenical  a  genius,  or  expounds  so  skilfully,  or  appre- 
ciates so  generously,  foreign  ideas.     In  hardly  any  other  land 


THE    NATUr.AL    niSTOllY    OF    MOIiALS.  1.53 

would  a  disinterested  war  for  the  support  of  a  suffering  na- 
tionality find  so  large  an  amount  of  support.  The  national 
crimes  of  France  are  many  and  grievous,  but  much  will  be 
forgiven  her  because  she  loved  much.  The  Anglo-Saxon 
nations,  on  the  other  hand,  though  sometimes  roused  lo 
strong  but  transient  enthusiasm,  are  habitually  singulai-ly 
nariow,  unai)preciative,  and  unsympathetic.  The  great  sourco 
of  th(  h-  national  virtue  is  the  sense  of  duty,  the  power  of  pn  r- 
suing  a  course  which  they  believe  to  be  right,  indej^endenUy 
of  all  considerations  of  sympathy  or  favoiu-,  of  enthusiasm  or 
success.  Other  nations  have  far  sui-passed  them  in  many 
qualities  that  are  beautiful,  and  in  some  qualities  that  are 
great.  It  is  the  merit  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  that  beyond 
all  others  it  has  produced  men  of  the  stamp  of  a  Washington 
or  a  Hampden  ;  men  careless,  indeed,  for  glory,  but  very  care- 
ful of  honour;  who  made  the  s\ipreme  majesty  of  moral  rec- 
titude the  guiding  principle  of  their  lives,  who  proved  in  the 
most  trying  cii'cumstances  that  no  allurements  of  ambition, 
and  no  storms  of  passion,  could  cause  them  to  deviate  one 
hair's  breadth  from  the  coiu'se  they  believed  to  be  theii*  duty. 
This  was  also  a  Roman  characteristic — especially  that  of 
Marcus  Aui'elius.  The  unweary,  unostentatious,  and  in- 
glorious crusade  of  England  against  slavery  may  probably  be 
regarded  as  among  the  three  or  four  perfectly  virtuous  pages 
comprised  in  the  history  of  nations. 

Although  it  cannot  be  said  that  any  virtue  is  the  nega- 
tion of  another,  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  virtues  are  natur 
ally  grouped  according  to  pi-inciples  of  affinity  or  congruity, 
which  are  essential  to  the  unity  of  the  t}q;»e.  The  heroical, 
the  amiable,  the  industrial,  the  intellectual  vii'tues  form  in 
this  manner  distinct  gi-oups ;  and  in  some  cases  the  develop- 
ment of  one  group  is  incompatible,  not  indeed  with  the  exist- 
ence, but  with  the  prominence  of  others.  Content  cannot  be 
the  leading  virtue  in  a  society  animated  by  an  intense  indus- 
trial spirit,  nor  submission  nor  tolerance  of  injuries  in  a  society 
12 


154:  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

formed  upon  a  military  ty}3e,  nor  intellectual  virtues  in  a 
society  -wnere  a  believing  spirit  is  made  the  essential  of  good- 
ness, yet  each  of  these  conditions  is  the  special  sphere  of  soyrc. 
particular  class  of  vii'tues.  The  distinctive  beauty  of  a  moi-al 
type  depends  not  so  much  on  the  elements  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed, as  on  the  proportions  in  which  those  elements  are 
combined.  The  characters  of  Socrates,  of  Cato,  of  Bayard, 
of  Fene^on,  and  of  St.  Francis  are  all  beautifal,  but  they 
differ  generically,  and  not  simply  in  degrees  of  excellence. 
To  endeavour  to  impart  to  Cato  the  distinctive  charm  of  St. 
Francis,  or  to  St.  Francis  that  of  Cato,  would  be  as  absurd 
as  to  endeavour  to  unite  in  a  single  statue  the  beauties  of  the 
Apollo  and  the  Laocoon,  or  in  a  single  landscape  the  beauties 
of  the  twilight  and  of  the  meridian  sun.  Take  away  pride 
from  the  ancient  Stoic  or  the  modern  Englishman,  and  you 
w^ould  have  destroyed  the  basis  of  many  of  his  noblest  vir- 
tues, but  humility  was  the  very  principle  and  root  of  the 
moral  qualities  of  the  monk.  There  is  no  quality  virtuous 
in  a  woman  that  is  not  also  virtuous  in  a  man,  yet  that 
disposition  or  hierarchy  of  virtues  which  constitutes  a  perfect 
woman  would  be  wholly  unsuited  for  a  perfect  man.  The 
moral  is  in  this  respect  like  the  physical  type.  The  beauty 
of  man  is  not  the  beauty  of  woman,  nor  the  beauty  of  the 
child  as  the  beauty  of  the  adult,  nor  the  beauty  of  an  Italian 
as  the  beauty  of  an  Englishwoman.  All  tyi^es  of  character 
are  not  good,  as  all  types  of  countenance  are  not  beautiful ; 
but  there  are  many  distinct  casts  of  goodness,  as  there  are 
many  distinct  casts  of  beauty. 

This  most  important  truth  may  be  stated  in  a  somewhab 
different  form.  Whenever  a  man  is  eminently  deficient  in 
any  virtue,  it,  of  course,  follows  that  his  character  Ls  imperfect, 
but  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  he  is  not  in  other  re- 
spects moral  and  virtuous.  There  is,  however,  usually  some 
one  virtue,  which  I  may  term  rudimentary,  which  is  brought 
forward  so  prominently  l^efore  the  world,  as  the  fir-t  condi 


TUK    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MOTIALS.  15.5 

tion  of  moral  excellence,  that  it  may  be  safely  inferred  that  a 
man  who  has  absolutely  neglected  it  is  entirely  indifferent  to 
moral  cultiu-e.  Rudimentary  viitues  v»vy  iu  different  ages, 
nations,  and  classes.  Thus,  in  the  great  repiblics  of  anti 
quity  patriotism  was  rudimentary,  for  it  was  so  assiduously 
cultivated,  that  it  appeared  at  once  the  most  obvious  and  the 
most  essential  of  dut'es.  Among  ourselves  much  private 
virtue  may  co-exist  with  complete  indifference  to  national 
interests.  In  the  monastic  period,  and  in  a  somewhat  differ- 
ent form  in  the  age  of  chivalry,  a  spirit  of  reverential  obe- 
dience was  rudimentary,  and  the  basis  of  all  moral  progress  ; 
but  we  may  now  frequently  find  a  good  man  without  it,  his 
moral  energies  having  been  cultivated  in  other  directions. 
Common  truthfulness  and  honesty,  as  I  have  already  said, 
are  rudimentary  vii'tues  in  industrial  societies,  but  not  in 
others.  Chastity,  in  England  at  least,  is  a  rudimentary 
female  virtue,  but  scarcely  a  rudimentary  virtue  among  men, 
and  it  has  not  been  in  all  ages,  and  is  not  now  in  all  coun- 
tiies,  rudimentary  among  women.  There  is  no  more  impoi*- 
tant  task  devolving  upon  a  moial  historian,  than  to  discover 
in  each  period  the  rudimentary  virtue,  for  it  regulates  in  a 
great  degree  the  position  assigned  to  all  others. 

From  the  considerations  I  have  urged,  it  will  appear  that 
there  is  considerable  danger  in  proposing  too  absolutely  a 
single  character,  however  admirable,  as  the  model  to  which 
all  men  must  necessarily  conform.  A  character  may  be 
pei-fect  in  its  own  kind,  but  no  character  can  possibly  em- 
biace  all  types  of  perfection ;  for,  as  we  have  seen,  the  perfec- 
tion of  a  type  depends  not  only  upon  the  virtues  that 
constitute  it,  but  also  upon  the  order  and  prominence  assigned 
to  them.  All  that  can  be  expected  in  an  ideal  is,  that  it 
should  be  perfect  of  its  own  kind,  and  should  exldbit  the 
type  most  needed  in  its  age,  and  most  widely  useful  to  man- 
kind. The  Christian  type  is  the  gloiification  of  the  amiable, 
as  the  Stoic  type  was  that  of  the  heroic  qualities,  and  this  is 


156  iriSTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

one  of  the  reasons  why  Christianity  is  so  much  more  fitted 
than  Stoicism  to  preside  over  civilisation,  for  the  more  society 
is  organised  and  ci\dlised,  the  gi^eater  is  the  scope  for  the 
amiable,  and  the  less  for  the  heroic  qualities. 

The  history  of  that  moral  intolerance  which  endeavours  to 
reduce  all  characters  to  a  single  type  has  never,  I  think,  been 
examined  as  it  deserves,  and  I  shall  frequently  have  occasion 
to  advert  to  it  in  the  following  pages.  No  one  can  have 
faUed  to  observe  how  common  it  is  for  men  to  make  theii* 
own  tastes  or  excellences  the  measure  of  all  goodness,  pro- 
nouncing all  that  is  broadly  different  fi-om  them  to  be 
imperfect  or  low,  or  of  a  secondary  value.  And  this,  wliich 
is  usually  attiibuted  to  vanity,  is  probably  in  most  cases 
much  more  due  to  feebleness  of  imagination,  to  the  difficulty 
most  men  have  in  conceiving  in  their  minds  an  order  of  cha- 
racter fimdamentally  different  from  theii-  own.  A  good  man 
can  usually  sympathise  much  more  with  a  very  impei'fect 
character  of  his  own  type  than  wdth  a  far  more  perfect  one 
of  a  different  type.  To  this  cause,  quite  as  much  as  to  his- 
torical causes  or  occasional  di^'eigences  of  interest,  may  be 
traced  the  extreme  difficulty  of  effecting  cordial  international 
friendships,  especially  in  those  cases  when  a  difference  of  i-ace 
coincides  with  the  diffeience  of  nationality.  Each  nation  has 
a  distinct  type  of  excellence,  each  esteems  the  virtues  in 
which  it  excels,  and  in  which  its  neighbours  are  often  most 
deficient,  incomparably  the  greatest.  Each  regards  with 
especial  antipathy  the  vices  from  which  it  is  most  free,  and 
to  which  its  neighboui's  maybe  most  addicted.  Hence  arises 
a  mingled  feeling  of  contempt  and  dislike,  from  which  the 
more  en'ightened  minds  are,  indeed,  soon  emancipated,  but 
which  constitutes  the  popular  sentiment. 

The  ty|:)e  of  character  of  every  individual  depends  partly 
upon  innate  temperament  and  partly  upon  external  cii'cum- 
stances.  A  warlike,  a  refined,  an  industrial  society  each 
evokes  and  requir-es  its  specific  qualities,  and  produces  its 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  157 

k])propiiate  ty})e.  If  a  man  of  a  different  type  arise — if,  for 
example,  a  man  formed  by  nature  to  exhibit  to  the  highest 
perfection  the  virtues  of  gentleness  or  meekness,  be  born  in 
the  midst  of  a  fierce  military  society — he  will  find  no  suitable 
Ecope  for  action,  he  will  jar  with  his  age,  and  his  type  wijl 
be  regarded  with  disfavour.  And  the  eflect  of  this  opposition 
is  not  simply  that  he  will  not  be  appreciated  as  he  deserves, 
he  will  also  never  succeed  in  developing  his  own  distinctive 
virtues  as  they  would  have  been  developed  under  other  cir- 
cumstances. Everything  will  be  against  him  the  force  of 
education,  the  habits  of  society,  the  opinions  of  mankind, 
even  his  own  sense  of  duty.  All  the  liighest  models  of  ex- 
cellence about  him  being  formed  on  a  different  tyi:)e,  his  very 
efforts  to  improve  his  being  will  dull  the  qualities  in  which 
nature  intended  him  to  excel.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  a  man 
with  naturally  heroic  qualities  be  born  in  a  society  which 
pre-eminently  values  heroism,  he  v/ill  not  only  be  more  ap- 
preciated, he  w^ill  also,  under  the  concurrence  of  favourable 
cii-cumstances,  caiTy  his  heroism  to  a  far  higher  point  than 
would  otherwise  have  been  possible.  Hence  changing  cir- 
cumstances produce  changing  types,  and  hence,  too,  the 
possibility  of  moral  history  and  the  necessity  of  uniting  it 
with  general  history.  Religions,  considered  as  moral  teachers, 
are  realised  and  effective  only  when  the'r  moral  teaching  is 
in  conformity  with  the  tendency  of  their  age.  If  any  pai-t 
of  it  is  not  so,  that  part  will  be  either  openly  abandoned,  or 
refined  away,  or  tacitly  neglected.  Among  the  ancients,  the 
co-existence  of  the  Epicurean  and  Stoical  schools,  which 
offered  to  the  world  two  entirely  different  archetypes  of  vii-tue, 
secured  in  a  very  remarkable  manner  the  recognition  of  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  excellence  ;  for  although  each  of  these  schools 
often  attained  a  pre-eminence,  neither  ever  succeeded  in 
wholly  destroying  or  discrediting  the  other. 

Of  the  two  elements  that  compose  the  moral  condition  of 
jiankind,  our  generalised  knowledge  is  almost  restricted  to 


(58  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MOr.ALS 

one.  We  know  much  of  the  ways  in  which  political,  social, 
or  intellectual  causes  act  upon  character,  but  scarcely  any- 
thing of  the  laws  that  govern  innate  disposition,  of  the 
reasons  and  extent  of  the  natural  moral  diversities  of  indivi- 
duals or  races.  I  think,  however,  that  most  persons  who 
reflect  upon  the  subject  will  conclude  that  the  progress  of 
medicine,  revealing  the  physical  causes  of  different  moral  pre- 
dispositions, is  likely  to  place  a  very  large  measure  of  know- 
ledge on  this  point  within  our  reach.  Of  all  the  great 
branches  of  human  knowledge,  medicine  is  that  in  which  the 
accomplished  results  are  most  obviously  imperfect  and  provi- 
sional, in  which  the  field  of  unrealised  possibilities  is  most 
extensive,  and  from  which,  if  the  human  mind  were  directed 
bo  it,  as  it  has  been  dui-ing  the  past  century  to  locomotive  and 
other  industrial  inventions,  the  most  splencUd  results  might 
be  expected.  Our  almost  absolute  ignorance  of  the  causes  of 
some  of  the  most  fatal  diseases,  and  the  empirical  nature  of 
nearly  all  our  best  medical  treatment,  have  been  often  recog- 
nised. The  medicine  of  inlialation  is  still  in  its  infancy,  and 
yet  it  is  by  inhalation  that  Nature  produces  most  of  her 
diseases,  and  effects  most  of  her  cures.  The  medical  power 
of  electricity,  which  of  all  known  agencies  bears  most  resem- 
blance to  life,  is  almost  unexplored.  The  discovery  of 
.irifesfchetics  has  in  our  own  day  opened  out  a  field  of  inestim- 
able importance,  and  the  proved  possibility,  under  certain 
physical  conditions,  of  governing  by  external  suggestions  the 
whole  cui-rent  of  the  feelings  and  emotions,  may  possibly 
cou  tribute  yet  fui-ther  to  the  alleviation  of  suffering,  and  per- 
haps to  that  euthanasia  which  Bacon  proposed  to  physicians 
as  an  end  of  their  art.  But  in  the  eyes  both  of  the  philan- 
thropist and  of  the  philosopher,  the  greatest  of  all  results 
to  be  expected  in  this,  or  perhaps  any  other  field,  are,  I 
conceive,  to  be  looked  for  in  the  study  of  the  relations 
between  oui-  physical  and  our  moral  natures.  He  who 
raises   moral   pathology   to    a   science,  expanding,  systema- 


THE    NATURAL    HISTORY    OF    MORALS.  159 

tising,  and  api:>lying  many  fragmentary  observations  that 
have  been  already  made,  will  probably  take  a  place  among 
the  master  intellects  of  mankind.  The  fastings  and  bleed- 
ings of  the  mediaeval  monk,  the  medicines  for  allaying  or 
stimulating  the  sensual  passions,  the  treatment  of  nervous 
diseases,  the  moiul  influences  of  insanity  and  of  castration,  the 
researches  of  phrenology,  the  moral  changes  that  accompany 
the  successive  stages  of  physical  developments,  the  instances 
of  diseases  which  have  altered,  sometimes  permanently,  the 
whole  complexion  of  the  chaiacter,  and  have  acted  through 
the  character  upon  all  the  intellectual  judgments,'  are 
examples  of  the  land  of  facts  with  which  such  a  science 
would  deal.  Mind  and  body  are  so  closely  connected  that 
even  those  who  most  earnestly  protest  against  materialism 
readily  admit  that  each  acts  continually  upon  the  other. 
The  sudden  emotion  that  quickens  the  pulse,  and  blanches  or 
flushes  the  cheek,  and  the  effect  of  fear  in  predisposing  to  an 
epidemic,  nre  familiar  instances  of  the  action  of  the  mind 
upon  the  body,  and  the  more  powerful  and  permanent  in- 
fluence of  the  body  upon  the  disposition  is  attested  by  count- 
less observations.  It  is  probable  that  this  action  extends  to 
all  parts  of  our  moral  constitution,  that  every  { u,ssion  or 
characteristic  tendency  has  a  physical  predisposing  cause,  and 
that  if  we  were  acquainted  with  these,  we  might  treat  by 
medicine  the  many  varieties  of  moral  disease  as  systematically 
as  we  now  treat  physical  disease.  In  addition  to  its  inca^.culablo 
practical  importance,  such  knowledge  would  have  a  great 
philosophical  value,  throwing  a  new  light  upon  the  fiUation 
of  our  moral  qualities,  enabling  us  to  treat  exhaustively  the 
moral  influence  of  cKmate,  and  withdrawing  the  great  ques- 
tion of  the  influence  of  race  from  the  impressions  of  isolated 
observers  to  place  it  on  the  firm  basis  of  experiment.     It 


'  See     some     remarkable     in-     jwrfs  du  Physique  et  du  Mora  J  de 
stances    of  this   in  Cabanis,   liap-     F Homme. 


IGO  HISTORY    OF    EUrOPEAN    MORALS. 

woiild    thus   form   the   complement  to   the  labours  of   the 
histoiian. 

Such  discoveries  are,   however,  perhaps  far  from  attain- 
ment, and  their  discussion  does  not  fall  within  the  compass 
of  this  work.     My  present  object  is  simply  to   trace   the  > 
action  of  external  circumstances  upon  morals,  to  examine 
what  have  been  the  moral  types  proposed  as  ideal  lq  different     ^-^ 
ages,  LQ  what  degree  they  have  been  realised  in  practice,      L/ 
and  by  what  causes  they  have  been  modified,  impaired,  or 
destroyed. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  161 


CHAPTER  11. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE. 


One  of  the  first  facts  that  must  strike  a  student  who  eX' 
amines  the  etliical  teaching  of  the  ancient  civilisations  is  how 
imperfectly  that  teaching  was  represented,  and  how  feebly  it 
was  influenced  by  the  popular  creed.  The  moral  ideals  had 
at  no  time  been  sought  in  the  actions  of  the  gods,  and  long 
before  the  triumph  of  Christianity,  polytheism  had  ceased  to 
have  any  gi-eat  influence  upon  the  more  cultivated  intellects 
of  mankind. 

In  Greece  we  may  trace  from  the  earliest  time  the  foot- 
steps of  a  religion  of  nature,  wholly  different  from  the  legends 
of  the  mythology.  The  language  in  which  the  first  Greek 
dramatists  asserted  the  supreme  authority  and  universal  pro- 
vidence of  Zeus  was  so  emphatic,  that  the  Christian  Fathers 
commonly  attributed  it  either  to  dii'ect  inspiration  or  to  a 
knowledge  of  the  Jewish  writings,  while  later  theologians 
of  the  school  of  Cudworth  have  argued  from  it  in  favour  of 
the  original  monotheism  of  our  race.  The  philosophers  were 
always  either  contemptuous  or  hostile  to  the  prevailing 
legends.  Pythagoras  is  said  to  have  declared  that  he  had  seer. 
Hesiod  tied  to  a  brazen  pillar  in  hell,  and  Homer  hung  upoi  i 
a  tree  surrounded  by  serpents,  on  account  of  the  fables  they 
had  invented  about  the  gods.^  Plato,  for  the  same  reason, 
banished   the    poets  from  his    republic.     Stilpo    turned    to 


Diog.  Laert.  Pytkag. 


IG2  HISTORY   OF  EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

i-idiciile  the  whole  system  of  sacrifices,  ^  and  was  exiled  from 
Athens  for  denying  that  the  Athene  of  Phidias  was  a  god- 
dess.^ Xenophanes  remarked  that  each  nation  attributed  to 
the  gods  its  distinctive  national  tyj^e,  the  gods  of  the 
yj^'.thiopians  being  black,  the  gods  of  the  Thracians  fair  and 
blue-eyed.^  Diagoras  and  Theodorns  are  said  to  have  denied, 
and  Protagoras  to  bave  questioned  the  existence  of  the  gods,'* 
while  the  Epicureans  deemed  them  wholly  indifferent  to 
bnman  affairs,  and  the  Pyrrhonists  pronounced  our  faculties 
absolutely  incapable  of  attaining  any  sure  knowledge,  either 
human  or  divine.  The  Cynic  Antisthenes  said  that  there  were 
many  popular  gods,  but  there  was  only  one  god  of  nature.® 
The  Stoics,  reproducing  an  opinion  which  was  supported  by 
Aiistotle  and  attributed  to  Pythagoras,^  believed  in  an  all- 
pervading  soul  of  nature,  but  unlike  some  modern  schools 
which  have  adopted  tliis  view,  they  asserted  in  emphatic 
language  the  docti-ine  of  Providence,  and  the  self-conscious- 
ness of  the  Deity. 

In  the  Ptoman  republic  and  empire,  a  general  scepticism 
had  likewise  arisen  among  the  philosophers  as  the  fiist  fruit 
of  intellectual  development,  and  the  educated  classes  were 
speedily  di\dded  between  avowed  or  virtual  atheists,  like  the 
Epicureans,^  and  pure  theists,  like  the  Stoics  and  the  Plato- 
nists.  The  first,  represented  by  such  writers  as  Lucretius 
and  Petronius,  regarded  the  gods  simply  as  the  creations  of 
fear,  denied  every  form  of  Providence,  attributed  the  world 

'  Plutarch,   De    Profectibus    in  LaL-tar  tius  in  this  chapter  h^s  cul- 

Virt.  leiteJ    sever il    o  her    ph  losopliivJ 

-  Diog.  Laert.  Stilpo.  definnions   of    the    D.vmity.     See 

^  Clem.  Alexand.  ^tro/n.  yii.  too     Plutarch,    IJe    PlacU.    Philos. 

*■  Cicero.  T)e  Nat.  Dcormn,  i.  1.  T^^tullian     ex[.la"iis     the     stoical 

^  Lactant.  Inst.  Div  i.  5.  theory  by  an  ingeoiousillusi ra' ion; 

8  '  Pyrhagoras  \t\.  definivit  quid  'Stoici  enim  Tolunt  Deum   sic  per 

esset  Deus  :  Animus  qui  per  uni-  mat'^riemdecucuvrissequoniodo  mol 

versus  mundi  paites,  omnemquena-  per  favos.' — Tert.  De  A'dma. 

t'lnra    commeans   btque    diffusus,  ^  As  Cicer  •  says:  '  E])icurug  re 

fx     quo     omnia     quse    nascuotur  tollit,  oratione    relinquit,    deos.'— 

aniiialii    vitam    cipmnt.'  —  Ibid.  Dp  Nat.  JJeor.  i.  iA. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE,  163 

to  a  concurrence  of  atoms,  and  life  to  spontaneous  generation, 
and  regarded  it  as  the  chief  end  of  philosophy  to  banish  as 
illusions  of  the  imagination  every  form  of  religious  belief. 
Tlie  othere  formed  a  more  or  less  pantheistic  conception  of 
the  Deity,  asserted  the  existence  of  a  Providence,'  but  treatod 
with  great  contempt  the  prevailing  legends  which  thry 
endeavoured  in  various  ways  to  explain.  The  first  systema- 
tic theory  of  explanation  appears  to  have  been  that  of  the 
Sicilian  Euhemerus,  whose  work  was  translated  by  Ennius. 
He  pretended  that  the  gods  were  originally  kings,  whose  his- 
tory and  genealogies  he  professed  to  trace,  and  who  after 
death  had  been  deified  by  mankind. ^  Another  attempt, 
which  in  the  first  period  of  iRoman  scepticism  was  more 
generally  popular,  was  that  of  some  of  the  Stoics,  who  re- 
garded the  gods  as  personifications  of  the  different  attributes 
of  the  Deity,  or  of  different  forces  of  nature.  Thus  Nep- 
tune was  the  sea,  Pluto  was  fire,  iHercules  represented  the 
strength  of  God,  iMinerva  iHis  wisdom,  Cei-es  His  fertilising 
energy.^  jMore  than  a  hundred  years  befui-e  the  Empii-e, 
Varro  had  declared  that  '  the  soul  of  the  w^orld  is  God,  and 
that  its  parts  are  true  divinities.'  ^  Virgil  and  iManilius  de- 
scribed, in  lines  of  singular  beauty,  that  universal  spirit,  the 
principle  of  all  life,  the  efiicient  cause  of  all  motion,  which 


'  Sometimes,  however,  they  le-         '^  See  on  tbi-*  th^ory  Cicero.  De 

stricted  Its  operaiioa  to  the  great  Xatur.  Deor.iA'A  ;  LdCtsmiias,  I?ist.. 

events  of  lite.     A«  au  iiiterh  cutor  Dio.  i.  11. 

in  Cicero  says  :' Magna  clii  cm. ant,         ^  Diog.    Laert.    J^it.    Zeno.     St. 

parvd  neg  iguKt.' — C  c.  Dc  Natur.  Aug. i>.-  Civ.De>,\\.\\.    Maximus 

JDeor.W.i'y^.    JustmMartvr  notices  of  Tyie,  Dissert,  x.  (in  some  edi- 

(^  Trypho,  i.)  th  it  ^ome  pliilosophers  tiobs  xxix.)  §  8.     Seneca.  De  Bene- 

m  iuiained  that  Gnd  cared  for  the  ficiis,  iv.  7-8.    Cic.  De  JS'atur.  Deor. 

univor.  al  or  species,  but  nut  for  the  i.  15.     Cicero  has  devoted  the  firbt 

iudivKual.     Seneja  maintains  that  two   books   of    this   work   t)   the 

ihe   Divinity    has    deteimined   all  stoical  theology.     A  full  review  of 

things    by    an    iijexorab.e    law    of  the  allegorical  and  mythical  inter* 

d*'btiuy,  vrliich  He  has  decreed,  but  pretations  of  paganism  is  given  by 

whicb    He    Himself    obejs.     {Dc  Eusebius,  Evang.  PrcBpar.  lib.  iii. 
Piovident.  v.)  ^  St.  Aug.  De  Civ.  vii.  o. 


164  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

permeates  and  animates  the  globe.  Pliny  said  that  'the 
world  and  sky,  in  whose  embrace  all  things  are  enclosed, 
must  be  deemed  a  god,  eternal,  immense,  never  begotten, 
and  never  to  perish.  To  seek  things  beyond  this  is  of  no 
profit  to  man,  and  they  transcend  the  limits  of  his  faculties.'  ^ 
Cicero  had  adopted  the  higher  Platonic  conception  of  the  Deity 
as  mind  freed  fiom  all  taint  of  matter,^  while  Seneca  cele- 
brated in  magnificent  language  '  Jupiter  the  guardian  and 
ruler  of  the  universe,  the  soul  and  spirit,  the  lord  and  master 
of  this  mundane  sphere,  .  .  .  the  cause  of  causes,  upon 
whom  all  things  hang.  .  .  .  Whose  wisdom  oversees  tlie 
world  that  it  may  move  uncontrolled  in  its  course,  .  .  . 
from  whom  all  things  proceed,  by  whose  spii'it  we  live,  .  .  . 
who  comprises  all  we  see.'^  Lucan,  the  great  poet  of  stoic- 
ism, rose  to  a  still  higher  strain,  and  to  one  which  still  more 
accurately  expressed  the  sentiments  of  his  school,  when  he 
described  Jupiter  as  that  majestic,  all-pervasive  spirit,  whose 
throne  is  \drtue  and  the  universe."*  Quint ilian  defended  the 
subjugation  of  the  world  beneath  the  sceptre  of  a  single 
man,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  an  image  of  the  government 
of  God.  Other  philosophers  contented  themselves  with 
asserting  the  supreme  authority  of  Jupiter  Maximus,  and 
reducing  the  other  divinities  to  mere  administrative  and 
angelic  functions,  or,  as  the  Platonists  expressed  it,  to  the 
position  of  daemons.  According  to  some  of  the  Stoics,  a 
final  catastrophe  would  consume  the  universe,  the  resuscitated 
spirits  of  men  and  all  these  minor  gods,  and  the  whole 
creation  being  absorbed  into  the  great  parent   spu'it,    God 


Plin.  Hist.  Nat.  ii.  1.  ^  Senec.  Quasf.  Nat.  ii.  45. 

'Nee  vero  Deus  ipse  qui  iiitel-         *  '  Estne  Dei  sedes,  nisi  term  ct 
ligitiir  a  nobis,  alio  mo.lo  intelligi         pontiis  et  aer, 

potest  nisi  mens  solut.i  quselain  tt  Et    celum  etvirtu-*?    Superos  quil 
libera,  segregata  ab  omni   concre-         quserimus  ult'a? 

tione   mutili,    omnii    sentiens    en  Jupiter estqu  dcumquevides,qii  d- 
niovens,     ipsaoue     prn?dita     motu         cum.^ue  moveris.' 
Bempitern'j.' — Tuso.  Quu-si.  i.  27.  I'harsal.  ix.  578-80. 


THE    TAGAN    EMPIKE.  165 

would  he  all  in  all.  The  very  children  and  old  women  ridi- 
•culed  Cerberus  and  the  I'uries^  or  treated  them  as  mere 
metaphors  of  conscience.-  In  the  deism  of  Cicero  the  popu- 
lar divinities  were  discarded,  the  oracles  refuted  and  lidiculed, 
th3  whole  system  of  divination  pronounced  a  political  impos- 
tuj-e,  and  the  genesis  of  the  miraculous  traced  to  the  exuber- 
ance of  the  imagination,  and  to  certain  diseases  of  the  judg- 
ment.^ Before  the  time  of  Constantino,  numerous  books 
had  been  written  against  the  oracles.'*  The  greater  number 
of  these  had  actually  ceased,  and  the  ablest  writers  justly 
saw  in  this  cessation  an  evidence  of  the  declining  credulity 
of  the  people,  and  a  proof  that  the  oracles  had  been  a  fiuit 
of  that  credulity.-^  The  Stoics,  holding,  as  was  their  custom, 
aloof  from  dii-ect  religious  discussion,  dissuaded  their  dis- 
ciples from  consulting  them,  on  the  ground  that  the  gifts  of 
fortune  were  of  no  account,  and  that  a  good  man  should  be 
content  with  his  conscience,  making  duty  and  not  success  the 
object  of  his  life.^     Cato  wondered  that  two  augurs  could 

'  '  Quaere  anu<   tam    exeors   in-  answers   in    verse,  Lut   their   bad 

veniri  potest,  qr.se  ilia,  quae  quon-  yoetry    wns    ridiculed,    and    tbey 

dam  credebantur  apud  infe'os  por-  gradually  sank   to   prose,  and   at 

tenta.  extimescat  ? ' — Cic.  I)e  JS'at.  last  ceased.    Plutarch  defended  tbe 

Deor.  ii.  2.  inspiration  of  the  bad  poetry  on  the 

*  Esse  aliqu-'s  Manes  etsubterranea  ground   that    the   inspiring    spirit 

regna     .     .     .  availeditself  of  i  he  natural  faculties 

Nee  pueri  credunt  nisi  qui  nondum  of  the  pries  ess  for  the  expre5>sion 

aere  Javantur.'  of  its  infallible  t'Uths— a  theory 

Juv.  Sat.  ii.  149,  152.  wl  ich  is  still  much  in  vogue  among 

See  on  this  subject  a  good  review  BiblicJ   critics,  and  is,  I  believe, 

hj  the  AhheFr eip'pe',Lcs Peres  Apo-  called  dynamical  inspiration.     See 

stoHqves,  leqon  viii.  Fontenelle,  Hist,  des   Oracles  (1st 

2  Cicero,  Be  Leg.  i.  14;  Macro-  ed.),  pp.  292-293. 

bius.  In.  Sovi.  Scip.  i.  10.  ^  See  the  f  mous  description  of 

3  See  his  wrrks  De  Divinatinne  Cato  refuriing  to  consult  the  oracle 
and  De  ISat.  Beorum,  which  form  of  Jupiter  Ammon  in  Lnean,  PAars. 
a  curious  contrast  to  the  jeligious  ix.  ;  and  a'so  Arrian,  ii.  7.  Seneca 
eonservatism  of  ihe  Be  Legihus,  beautifully  says,  'Vis  deos  pro 
which  was  written  clii  fly  from  a  pitiare  ?  bonus  esto.  Satis  illos 
political  point  of  view.  co'uit  quisqiiis  imitatus  est.' — Ep, 

*  Eusebius,  Prcep.  Evavg.  lib.  iv.    xcv. 

*  The   oracles    first    gave   their 


[66 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


meet  with  gravity.^  The  Roman  general  Sertoiius  made  the 
forgery  of  aiisijicious  omens  a  continual  resource  in  warfare.'^ 
The  Roman  wits  made  divination  the  favourite  subject  of 
their  ridicule.^  The  denunciation  which  the  early  Greek 
moralists  launched  against  the  popular  ascription  of  immoral 
deeds  to  the  gods  was  echoed  by  a  long  series  of  later  philo- 
sophers,'* while  Ovid  made  these  fables  the  theme  of  hi;3 
mocking  Metamorphoses,  and  in  his  most  immoral  poem  pro- 
posed Jupiter  as  a  model  of  vice.  With  an  irony  not  un- 
like that  of  Isaiah,  Horace  described  the  carpenter  deliberat- 
ing whether  he  should  convert  a  shapeless  log  into  a  bench 
or  into  a  god.^  Cicero,  Plutarch,  Maximus  of  Tyre,  and 
Dion  Chrysostom  either  denounced  idolatry  or  defended  the 
use  of  images  simply  on  the  ground  that  they  were  signs 
and  symbols  of  the  Deity,^  well  suited  to  aid  the  devotions 


'  Cicero,  Be  Bioin.  ii.  24. 

•2  Aiihis  Gel  ius,  Noct.  Att.  xv.  22. 

'  See  H  long  string  of  witticisms 
collected  by  Legendre,  Traite  de 
U  Opinion,  ou  Memoircs  pour  servir 
a  VHistoire  de  VEsprit  humain 
(Venise,  1 735), tome  i. pp.  386-387. 

*  See  Cic^^o,  Be  Natnra  Beomm ; 
Seneca,  Be  Brtv.  Vit.  c.  xvi.  ;  Plin. 
Hist.  Nat.  ii.  5 ;  Plutarch,  Be  Su- 
ferstitione. 

*  '  Olim    truncus  eram  ficulnus, 
inutile  lignum 

Cum     faber,     incertus     scamnum 

faceretre  Priapum, 
Maluit  esse  Deum.' 

!<c(t.  I.  viii.  1-3. 

^  There  i?  a  ver}'  curious  dis- 
cussion on  this  subject,  reported  to 
hare  taken  pla^e  between  Apollo- 
nius  of  Tyana  and  an  Egyptian 
priest.  The  former  defended  t^  e 
Gr'^ek  fashion  of  worshipping  the 
Divinity  un  'er  the  form  of  the 
human  imaee,  scu'ptured  by 
Phidias  and  Praxiteles,  this  being 
the  noblest  form  we  can  conceive, 


and  therefore  the  least  inadequate 
to  the  L'ivine  perfections.  The 
latter  defende.l  the  Egyptian  cus- 
tom of  worshipping  animals,  be- 
cause, as  he  taid,  it  is  blasphemous 
to  attempt  to  conceive  an  image  of 
the  Deity,  and  the  Egyptians  there- 
fore concentrate  the  imagination  of 
the  worshipper  on  objects  that  are 
plainly  merely  allegorical  or  sym- 
bolic iJ,  and  do  not  pretend  to  offer 
any  such  image  {Philos.  ApoU.  of 
Tya  o,  vi.  19).  Pliny  shortly  says, 
'  Effigiem  Dei  formamque  quserere 
imbecillitatis  humanse  reor'  {Hist. 
Nat.  ii.  5).  See  too  Max.  Tyrius 
Diss,  xxxviii.  There  was  a  legend 
that  Numa  forbade  all  idols  and 
that  for  200  years  they  were  uv- 
kno«n  in  Rome  (Plutarch,  Life  of 
Nunia).  Dion  Chrysostom  said 
that  the  Gods  need  no  statues  o». 
sacrifices,  but  that  by  these  means 
we  attest  our  devotion  to  thenj 
{Orat.  xxxi.)  On  the  vanity  of  rich 
ido's  see  Plutarch,  Be  H^iipersti- 
tione ;  Seneca,  Ep.  xxxi. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  167 

of  tlie  iojnorant.  Seneca'  and  the  whole  school  cf  Pytha- 
goras objected  to  the  sacrifices. 

These  examples  will  be  sufficient  to  show  how  widel,y  the 
ph  ilosophic  classes  in  Home  were  removed  from  the  professed 
religion  of  the  State,  and  how  necessary  it  is  to  seek  else- 
where the  sources  of  their  moral  life.  But  the  opinion^  of 
learned  men  never  reflect  faithfully  those  of  the  vulgar, 
and  the  chasm  between  the  two  classes  was  even  wider  than 
at  present  before  the  dawn  of  Chiistianity  and  the  invention 
of  printing.  The  atheistic  enthusiasm  of  Lucretius  and  the 
sceptical  enthusiasm  of  some  of  the  disciples  of  Carneades 
were  isolated  phenomena,  and  the  great  majority  of  the 
ancient  philosopheis,  while  speculating  with  the  utmost 
freedom  in  private,  or  in  writings  that  were  read  by  the  few, 
countenanced,  practised,  and  even  defended  the  religious 
rites  that  they  despised.  It  was  believed  that  many  different 
paths  adapted  to  different  nations  and  gi-ades  of  knowledge 
converge  to  the  same  Divinity,  and  that  the  most  erroneous 
religion  is  good  if  it  forms  good  dispositions  and  inspires 
virtuous  actions.  The  oracle  of  Delphi  had  said  that  the 
best  religion  is  that  of  a  man's  ov/n  city.  Polybius  and 
Dionvsius  of  Halicarnassus,  who  regarded  all  reliscions 
simply  as  political  agencies,  dilated  in  rapturous  terms  upon 
the  devotion  of  the  Romans  and  the  comparative  purity  of 
their  creed. ^  Yarro  openly  professed  the  belief  that  there 
are  religious  truths  which  it  is  expedient  that  the  people 
should  not  know,  and  falsehoods  which  they  should  believe  to 
be  true.^  The  Academic  Cicero  and  the  Epicurean  Caesar  were 
both  high  officers  of  religion.  The  Stoics  taught  that 
every  man  should  duly  perform  the  religious  ceremonies  of 
bis  country.  "* 

But  the  Roman  religion,  even  in  its  best  days,  though  ao 


•  Lact.  Inst.  Div.  vi.  25.  ^  St.  Aug.  Be  Civ.  Dei,  W.  31. 

'  Dion.  Halie.  ii. ;  Polyb.  vi.  oQ.         *  Epictetus,  Enchir.  xxsix. 


168  HI:>T0I!Y    OF    EUKOrEAN    MORALS. 

iclmirable  system  of  moral  discipline,  was  never  an  indepen- 
dent source  of  moral  enthusiasm.  It  was  the  creature  of 
the  State,  and  derived  its  inspiration  from  political  feeling. 
The  Roman  gods  were  not,  like  those  of  the  Greeks,  the 
creations  of  an  unbridled  and  irreverent  fancy,  nor,  like 
<  hose  of  the  Egyptians,  lepresentations  of  the  forces  of  nature ; 
they  were  for  the  most  pait  simple  allegories,  frigid  per- 
sonifications of  difierent  viii;ues,  or  presiding  spirits  imagined 
for  the  protection  of  difierent  departments  of  industry.  The 
religion  established  the  sanctity  of  an  oath,  it  gave  a  kind  of 
official  consecration  to  certain  virtues,  and  commemorated 
special  instances  in  which  they  had  been  displayed  ;  its  local 
character  strengthened  patriotic  feeling,  its  worship  of  the 
dead  fostered  a  vague  belief  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,^ 
it  sustained  the  supremacy  of  the  father  in  the  family,  sur- 
rounded marriage  with  many  imposing  solemnities,  and 
created  simple  and  reverent  characters  profoundly  submissive 
to  an  over-ruling  Providence  and  scrupulously  obsei-vant  ot 
sacred  rites.  But  with  all  this  it  was  purely  selfish.  It  was 
simply  a  method  of  obtaining  prosperity,  averting  calamity, 
and  reading  the  future.  Ancient  Eome  produced  many 
heroes,  but  no  saint.  Its  self-sacrifice  was  patriotic,  not  re- 
ligious. Its  religion  was  neither  an  independent  teacher  nor 
a  source  of  inspiration,  although  its  rites  mingled  with  and 
strengthened  some  of  the  best  habits  of  the  people. 

But  these  habits,  and  the  religious  reverence  with  which 
tikey  were  connected,  soon  disappeared  amid  the  immorality 
and  decomposition  that  marked  the  closino-  vears  of  the  Re- 
public and  the  dawn  of  the  Empire.  The  sterix  simplicity  of  life, 
viLich  the  censors  had  so  zealously  and  often  so  tyrannically 


*  Cicero,  speaking  of  the-n^orship  Roman  wo'ship  of  the  dead,  which 

cf  deified  men,  sajs,  '  indicat  om-  whs    the   centre    «f    the   domestic 

nium    qiiidem    animcs   immortales  religion,  hfis  been  recently  investi- 

esse,     sed     fortium      bonoi'umque  gated   with    much   ability    by  M, 

divinop.' — De   Dg.    ii.    11.      The  Co\\\AUgcs  {La  Cite  anti<jne) 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  169 

-anforced,'  was  oxclianged  for  a  luxury  which  fii-st  appeared 
after  the  return  of  the  army  of  Manlius  from  Asia,^  in- 
creased to  immense  proportions  after  the  almost  simulta- 
neous conquests  of  Carthage,  Corinth,  and  jMacedonia,^  re- 
ceived an  additional  stimulus  from  the  example  of  Antony,'* 
and  at  last,  under  the  Empire,  rose  to  excesses  which  the 
wildest  Oriental  orgies  have  never  surpassed/^  The  complete 
subversion  of  the  social  and  political  system  of  the  Repubb'c, 
the  anarchy  of  civil  war,  the  evei'-increasing  concourse  of 
strangers,  bringing  with  them  new  philosophies,  customs,  and 
gods,  had  dissolved  or  effaced  all  the  old  bonds  of  virtue. 
The  simple  juxtaposition  of  many  forms  of  worship  effected 
what  could  not  have  been  effected  by  the  most  sceptical 
literatiu^e  or  the  most  audacious  philosophy.  The  moral  in- 
fluence of  rebgion  was  almost  annihilated.  The  feeling  of 
reverence  was  almost  extinct.  Augustu.s  SDlemnly  degraded 
the  statue  of  Neptune  because  his  fleet  had  been  wrecked.^ 
When  Germanicus  died,  the  populace  stoned  or  overthrew 
the  altars  of  the  gods.'^  The  idea  of  sanctity  was  so  far  re- 
moved from  the  popular  divinities  that  it  became  a  con- 
tinual complaint  that  prayers  were  offered  which  the  most 
depraved  would  blush  to  pronounce  aloud.®  Amid  the  cor- 
ruption of  the  Empire,  we  meet  with  many  noble  efforts  of 
reform  made  by  philosophers  or  by  emperors,  but  we  find 


'  On  tlie  minute  supervision  ex-  xxxiv.).     The    movement    of    de- 

ercised   by  the  censors  on  all  the  composition  has  been  lately  fully 

details  of  domestic  life,  see  Aul.  traced     by     Mommsen    {Hist,    of 

Gell.  Noct.  ii.  24  ;  iv.  12,  20.  Rome) ;    Dollinger  {Jew  and  Gen- 

2  Livy,  xxxix.  6.  tile);  Denis  {H/.-t.  des  Idees  morahs 

3  Veil.  P.iterculus,  i,  11-13;  dans  V AntiquUe) ;  Fressenae  {Hist, 
Eu^ropius,  iv,  6.  Sallust  ascribed  des  trois  ircmi-rs  Siedis)',  in  the 
the  decadence  of  Rome  to  the  de-  histories  of  Champafroy.  and  in  tho 
Etru?ti"n  of  its  rival,  Carthage.  beautiful  closing  chapters   of  ihe 

■*  Plutarch,     De     Adulator e     et  Apotres  of  Renau. 

Amico.  fi"  Siieton.  Ai/ff.  xvi. 

*  There  is  much  curiotis  inform-  ^  Ibi().  Calig.  v. 

ntion  about  thp  growth  of  Roman  ^  Persius,   Sat.  ii.;  Horace,  E^u 

luxury   in   Pliny    {Hist.   Nat.  lib.  i.  16,  w.  57-60. 

13 


170  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

scarcely  a  trace  of  the  moral  influence  of  the  old  religion.  The 
apotheosis  of  the  emperors  consummated  its  degradation.  The 
foreign  gods  were  identified  with  those  of  Rome,  and  all 
theij'  immoral  legends  associated  with  the  national  creed.' 
The  theatre  greatly  extended  the  area  of  scepticism.  Cicero 
mentions  the  assenting  plaudits  with  which  the  people  heai-d 
the  lines  of  Ennius,  declaring  that  the  gods,  though  real 
beings,  take  no  care  for  the  things  of  man.  2  Plutarch  tells 
of  a  spectator  at  a  theatre  rising  up  with  indignation  after  a 
recital  of  the  ciimes  of  Diana,  and  exclaiming  to  the  actor, 
'  May  you  have  a  daughter  like  her  whom  you  have  de 
scribed!  '^  St,  Augustine  and  other  of  the  Fathers  long  after 
ridiculed  the  pagans  who  satirised  in  the  theatres  the  very 
gods  they  worshipped  in  the  temples.^  Men  were  still 
profoundly  superstitious,  but  they  lesortcd  to  each  new  re- 
ligion as  to  a  charm  or  talisman  of  especial  power,  or  a  sys- 
tem of  magic  revealing  the  future.  There  existed,  too,  to  a 
very  large  extent,  a  kiud  of  superstitious  scepticism  which 
occupies  a  veiy  prominent  ])lace  in  religious  history.  There 
were  multitudes  who,  declaring  that  there  were  no  gods,  or 
that  the  gods  never  interfered  with  human  affairs,  professed 
with  the  same  breath  an  absolute  faith  in  all  portents, 
auguries,  dreams,  and  mii'acles.  Innumerable  natural  objects, 
Buch  as  comets,  meteors,  earthquakes,  or  monstrous  births, 
were  supposed  to  possess  a  kind  of  occult  or  magical  virtue, 
by  which  they  foreshadowed,  and  in  some  cases  influenced, 


'  See,    on    the   identifi  ation    of  '^  '  Ego  deum  genus  esse  semper 

the    Greek   and    Egyptian    myths,  dixi  et  dicam  ccelitum  ; 

Plutarch's  De  hide  et  Osiride.     Ti  e  Sed  eos  nou  curare  opinor  quidaga; 

Greek  and  Roman  gods  were  habi-  hominum  genus.' 

fcually  regarcied   as  identical,   and  Cice  o   adds:    'migiio   plausu    lo- 

Caesai-  and  Tacitus,  in  like  manner,  quitur    assentiente     populo.' —  Z>6 

identified  the  deities  of  Gaul  and  JDivin.  ii.  nO. 

Germany  with  th  se  of  their  own  ^  Plutarch,  De  Snpirstitione. 

oouutry.     See  Dcillinger,  Jem  and  *  St.    Aug.  De    Civ.  D'i,  vi.  6; 

Sintile,Yo\   ii.  pp.  160-165.  Tertul.  Apol.  15;   Arnobius,    Adv 

Gentes,  iv. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  171 

the  destinies  of  men.  Astrology^  whicli  is  the  special  lepre- 
Bcntative  of  this  mode  of  thought,  rose  to  great  prominence. 
The  elder  Pliny  notices  that  in  his  time  a  belief  was  rapidly 
gaining  gi-oimd,  both  among  the  learned  and  among  the  vul- 
gar, that  the  whole  destiny  of  man  is  determined  by  the  star  that 
presides  over  his  nativity ;  that  God,  having  ordained  this, 
never  interferes  with  human  affairs,  and  that  the  reality 
of  the  portents  is  due  to  this  pre-ordainment. '  One  of  the 
later  historians  of  the  Empire  remarks  that  numbers  who 
denied  the  existence  of  any  divinity  believed  nevertheless 
that  they  could  not  safely  appear  in  public,  or  eat  or  bathe, 
unless  they  had  first  carefully  consulted  the  almanac  to 
ascertain  the  position  of  the  planet  Mercury,  or  how  far  the 
moon  was  from  the  Crab.-  Except,  perhaps,  among  the  pea- 
sants in  the  country  districts,  the  Roman  religion,  in  the 
last  years  of  the  Republic,  and  in  the  first  century  of  the 
Empire,  scarcely  existed,  except  in  the  state  of  a  superstition, 
and  he  who  would  examine  the  true  moral  influence  of  the 
time  must  turn  to  the  great  schools  of  philosophy  wliich  had 
been  imported  from  Greece. 

The  vast  place  wliich  the  rival  systems  of  Zeno  and  Epi- 
curus occupy  in  the  moral  history  of  mankind,  and  especi- 
ally in   the  closing  years  of  the  empire  of  paganism,  may 


'   '  Pars  alia  ef  hane  pellit,  as-  with  different  destinies    who    had 

troque      sno       eventus     assignat,  been    born  at  the  same  time,  and 

nascenJi      legibus  ;     semelque     in  therefure  nnder  the  same  stars  (vii. 

omnes    futures   unquam   Deo   de-  50).     Tacitus    expressrs    complete 

cretum  ;    in    reliquum   vero    otium  doubt  about  the  existynce  of  ProA-i- 

datum.      Sedere    coepit    sententia  dence.     {Ann.  y\.  22.)     Tiberius  is 

hgec  pariterque  et  eruditum  yulgus  said  to  haA-e  been  \>ry  indifferent 

et  rude  in  e;:m  cuisu  vadit.     Ecce  to  the  gods  and  to  the  worship  of 

fulgurum       moiiiius,       oraculorum  the  temples,  beng  wholly  addieteci 

prsescita.       aruspicum       pr?edicta.  to  astrology  and  convinced  that  all 

atqueetiam  parva  dicru.  in  auguriis  things  were  pre-ordained.      {Suet. 

Kternumenta  et  offensiones  pedum.'  Tib.  ixix.) 

—  Hist.  IS'at.  ii.  5.     Pliny  himself  -  Ammianus  Marcellinus,  xxviii 

expres-es  great  doubt  about  a.-tro-  4. 
logy  giving  many  examples  of  men 


172  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

easily  lead  us  to  exaggerate  the  creative  geiiins  of  ilwit 
founders,  who,  in  fact,  did  little  more  than  give  definitions  or  in- 
tellectual expression  to  types  of  excellence  that  had  at  all  times 
existed  in  the  world.  There  have  ever  been  stern,  upright,  self- 
controlled,  and  courageous  men,  actuated  by  a  pure  sense  of 
duty,  capable  of  high  efibrts  of  self-sacrifice,  somewhat  intoh  - 
rant  of  the  frailties  of  others,  somewhat  hard  and  unsym 
pathising  in  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  society,  but  rising  to 
heroic  grandeur  as  the  storm  lowered  upon  their  path,  and 
more  ready  to  relinquish  life  than  the  cause  they  believed  to 
be  true.  There  have  also  always  been  men  of  easy  tempers 
and  of  amiable  disposition,  gentle,  benevolent,  and  pliant, 
cordial  friends  and  forgiving  enemies,  selfish  at  heart,  yet 
ever  ready,  when  it  is  possible,  to  unite  their  gratifications 
with  those  of  others,  averse  to  all  enthusiasm,  mysticism, 
Utopias,  and  superstition,  with  little  depth  of  character  or 
capacity  for  self-sacrifice,  but  admirably  fitted  to  impart  and 
to  receive  enjoyment,  and  to  render  the  course  of  life  easy 
and  harmonious.  The  first  are  by  nature  Stoics,  and  the 
second  Epicureans,  and  if  they  proceed  to  reason  about  the 
summum  honum  or  the  afiections,  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  in  each  case  theii*  charactei-s  will  determine  their 
theories.  The  first  will  estimate  self-control  above  all  other 
qualities,  will  disparage  the  affections,  and  will  endeavoiu- 
to  separate  widely  the  ideas  of  duty  and  of  interest,  while 
the  second  will  systematically  prefer  the  amiable  to  the 
heroic,  and  the  utilitarian  to  the  mystical. 

But  while  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  in  these  mattera 
character  usually  determines  opinion,  it  is  not  less  true  that 
character  is  itself  in  a  great  measure  governed  by  national 
circumstances.  The  refined,  artistic,  sensual  civilisations  of 
Greece  and  Asia  Minor  might  easily  produce  fine  examples  of 
the  Epicurean  type,  but  Rome  was  from  the  earliest  times 
pre-eminently  the  home  of  stoicism.  Long  before  the  Romans 
had  begun  to  reason  about  philosophy,  they  had  exhibited  it  in 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  173 

action,  and  in  tlieir  speculative  days  it  was  to  this  doctrine 
that  the  noblest  minds  naturally  tended.  A  great  nation 
engaged  in  perpetual  wars  in  an  age  when  success  in  waifave 
depended  neither  upon  wealth  nor  upon  mechanical  genius, 
but  upon  the  constant  enei'gy  of  patriotic  enthusiasm,  and 
upon  the  unflinching  maintenance  of  military  discipline,  the 
whole  force  of  the  national  character  tended  to  the  production 
of  a  single  definite  type.  In  the  absolute  authority  accorded 
to  the  father  over  the  children,  to  the  husband  over  the  w'ife, 
to  the  master  over  the  slave,  we  may  trace  the  same  habits  of 
discipline  that  proved  so  formidable  in  the  field.  Patriotism, 
and  military  honour  were  indissolubly  connected  in  the 
Roman  mind.  They  were  the  two  sources  of  national 
enthusiasm,  the  chief  ingredients  of  the  national  conception  of 
greatness.  They  determined  irresistibly  the  moral  theory 
which  was  to  prove  supreme. 

Now  war,  which  brings  with  it  so  many  demoralising  in- 
fluences, has,  at  least,  always  been  the  great  school  of 
lieroism.  It  teaches  men  how  to  die.  It  familiarises  the 
mind  with  the  idea  of  noble  actions  performed  under  the 
influence,  not  of  personal  interest,  but  of  honour  and  of  enthu- 
siasm. It  elicits  in  the  highest  degree  strength  of  character, 
accustoms  men  to  the  abnegation  needed  for  simultaneous 
action,  compels  them  to  repress  their  fears,  and  establish  a 
firm  control  over  their  afiections.  Patriotism,  too,  leads 
them  to  subordinate  their  personal  wishes  to  the  interests  of 
the  society  in  which  they  live.  It  extends  the  horizon  of  life, 
teaching  men  to  dwell  among  the  great  men  of  the  past,  to 
derive  their  moral  strength  from  the  study  of  heroic  lives, 
to  look  forward  continually,  through  the  vistas  of  a  distar.l 
future,  to  the  welfare  of  an  organisation  which  will  continue 
when  they  have  passed  away.  All  these  influences  wero 
developed  in  Roman  life  to  a  degree  which  can  now  never  bo 
reproduced.  War,  for  the  reasons  I  have  stated,  was  far  more 
tlian  at  present  the  school  of  heroic  virtues.      Patriotism, 


174  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

in  the  absence  of  any  strong  theological  passion,  had 
assumed  a  transcendent  power.  The  citizen,  passing  con- 
tinually from  political  to  military  life,  exhibited  to  perfection 
the  moral  effects  of  both.  The  habits  of  command  formed 
by  a  long  period  of  almost  universal  empire,  and  by  the 
aristocratic  organisation  of  the  city,  contributed  to  the  ele- 
vation, and  also  to  the  piide,  of  the  national  character. 

It  will  appear,  I  think,  sufficiently  evident,  from  these 
considerations,  that  the  circumstances  of  the  Roman  jDeople 
tended  inevitably  to  the  production  of  a  certain  type  of 
character,  which,  in  its  essential  charactei'istics,  was  the  type 
of  stoicism.  In  addition  to  the  predisposition  which  leads 
men  in  their  estimate  of  the  comparative  excellence  of  dif- 
ferent qualities  to  select  for  the  highest  eulogy  those  which 
are  most  congruous  to  their  own  characters,  this  fact  derives 
a  great  importance  from  the  large  place  which  the  biographi- 
cal element  occupied  in  ancient  ethical  teaching.  Among 
Christians  the  ideals  have  commonly  been  eitlier  supernatural 
beings  or  men  who  were  in  constant  connection  with  super- 
natural beings,  and  these  men  have  usually  been  either  Jews 
or  saints,  whose  lives  were  of  such  a  nature  a.s  to  isolate 
them  fi'om  most  human  sympathies,  and  to  efface  as  far  as 
possible  the  national  type.  Among  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
the  examples  of  virtue  were  usually  their  own  fellow-country- 
men ;  men  who  had  lived  in  the  same  moral  atmosphere, 
struggled  for  the  same  ends,  acquired  their  rei)utation  in  the 
same  sphei-es^  exhibited  in  all  their  intensity  the  same  national 
characteristics  as  their  admirers.  History  had  assuuied  a 
didactic  character  it  has  now  almost  wholly  lost.  One  of  the 
first  tasks  of  every  moralist  was  to  collect  traits  of  character 
illustrating  the  precepts  he  enforced.  Valerius  Maximus  re- 
presented faithfully  the  method  of  the  teachers  of  antiquity 
when  he  wrote  his  book  giving  a  catalogue  of  different  moral 
qualities,  and  illustrating  each  by  a  profusion  of  examples 
derived  from  the  history  of  his  own  or  of  foreign  nations. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  175 

'Wlienever,'  said  Plutarch,  *we  begin  an  enterprise,  or  take 
possession  of  a  charge,  or  experience  a  calamity,  we  place 
before  our  e3^es  the  example  of  the  greatest  men  of  our  own 
OT  of  bygone  ages,  and  we  ask  ourselves  how  Plato  or 
Epaminondas,  Lycurgus  or  Agesilaus,  would  have  acted. 
Looking  into  these  personages  as  into  a  faithful  mirror,  we 
3an  remedy  our  defects  in  word  or  deed.  .  .  .  Whenever  any 
perplexity  arrives,  or  any  passion  disturbs  the  mind,  the 
student  of  philosophy  pictures  to  himself  some  of  those  who 
have  been  celebrated  for  their  virtue,  and  the  recollection  sus- 
tains his  tottering  steps  and  prevents  his  fall.'' 

Passages  of  this  kind  continually  occur  in  the  an^'ient 
moralists,^  and  they  show  how  naturally  the  highest  type  of 
national  excellence  determined  the  prevailing  school  of  moral 
philosophy,  and  also  how  the  influence  of  the  heroic  period 
of  national  history  would  act  upon  the  best  minds  in  the 
subsequent  and  wholly  different  phases  of  development. 
It  was  therefore  not  surprising  that  during  the  Empire, 
though  the  conditions  of  national  life  were  profoundly  altered, 
Stoicism  should  still  be  the  philosophical  religion,  the  great 
source  and  regulator  of  moral  enthusiasm.  Epicureanism 
had,  indeed,  spread  widely  in  the  Emjjire,^  but  it  proved  little 
more  than  a  principle  of  disintegration  or  an  apology  for  vice, 
or  at  best  the  religion  of  tranquil  and  indifferent  natures  ani- 
mated by  no  strong  moral  enthusiasm.  It  is  indeed  true 
that  Epicurus  had  himself  been  a  man  of  the  most  blameless 
character,  that  his  doctrines  were  at  first  carefully  distin- 
guished from  the  coarse  sensuality  of  the  Cyrenaic  school 
which  had  preceded  them,  that  they  admitted  in  theory 
almost  every  form  of  virtue,  and  that  the  school  had  produced 

'  De  Prnfcciihtis  in  Virt.     It  was  Seneca  is  full  of  similar  exliorra- 

originally   the    custom   at   Roman  tions. 

feasts  to  sing  to  a  pipe  the  actions        ^  Accorvling   to    Cicero,  the  first 

Mid    the    virtues    of    the    greatest  Latin  work  on  pliilosnphy  was  h_y 

men.     (Cic.  T'usc.  Quest,  iv.)  the  Epicurean  Amafauius.     (7«i*c 

^  E.g.      ]'"]pictetu8,      Ench.     lii.  Qi«£st.  iv.j 


176  HISTOrvY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAL?, 

many  disciples  who,  if  they  had  not  attained  the  highest 
grades  of  excellence,  had  at  least  been  men  of  harmless  liv^es, 
intensely  devoted  to  their  master,  and  especially  noted  for 
Ihe  warmth  and  constancy  of  their  friendships.^  But  a 
Bchool  which  placed  so  high  a  value  on  ease  and  pleasure  was 
eminently  unfit  to  struggle  against  the  fearful  difficulties  that 
beset  the  teachers  of  virtue  amid  the  anarchy  of  a  military 
despotism,  and  the  ^drtuesand  the  vices  of  the  Romans  were 
alike  fatal  to  its  success.  All  the  great  ideals  of  Roman  ex- 
cellence belonged  to  a  different  t}^.  Such  men  as  a  Decius 
or  a  Regulus  would  have  been  impossible  in  an  Epicurean 
society,  for  even  if  their  actuating  emotion  were  no  nobler  than 
a  desire  for  posthumous  fame,  such  a  desire  could  never  grow 
powerful  in  a  moral  atmosphere  charged  with  the  shrewd, 
placid,  unsentimental  utilitarianism  of  Epicurus.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  distinctions  the  Epicureans  had  drawn  be- 
tween more  or  less  refined  pleasures  and  their  elevated 
conceptions  of  what  constitutes  the  true  happiness  of  men, 
were  unintelliajible  to  the  Romans,  who  knew  how  to  sacri- 


'  Seo  on  the  groat  perfection  of  this  book  was  one  of  the  most 
tne  character  of  Epicurus  his  life  formidable  and  unflinching  oppo- 
hy  Diogenes  Laertius.  and  on  the  nents  of  Epicureanism  in  all  the 
purity  of  the  philosophy  he  taught  ancient  world,  it  must  be  owned 
and  the  decree  in  which  it  was  dis-  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  find 
torted  and  mit^represented  by  l^is  a  grander  example  of  that  noble 
Roman  followers.  Seneca  De  Vifa  love  of  truth,  that  sublime  and 
Beaia,  c.  xii.  xiii.  and  Ep.  xsi.  scrupulous  justice  to  opponents. 
Gassendi,  in  a  very  inreresting  litt'e  which  was  the  pre-eminent  glory  of 
work  entitled  Phi/osophics  Epicuri  ancient  philosophers,  and  which, 
Sf/ntagjna,  h;is  abundancly  proved  after  the  destruction  of  philosophy, 
the  possibilit3' of  uniting  Epicurean  was  for  many  centuries  almost  un- 
principles  with  a  high  code  of  known  in  the  world.  It  is  impos- 
morals.  But  probably  the  mo^t  sible  to  doubt  that  Epicureanism 
beautiful  picture  of  the  Epicurean  was  logically  compatible  with  a  very 
system  is  the  first  book  of  the  Be  high  degree  of  virtue.  It  is,  I 
Ft??iA?/5,  in  which  Cicero  endeavours  think,  equally  impossible  to  doubt 
to  paint  it  as  it  would  have  been  that  its  practical  tendency  was  to- 
painted  by  its  adher'^'uts.  When  wards  vice. 
«u    r**inembor    that    the  writer   of 


TTTF.    TAGAX    EMPIRE.  177 

6c(5  enjoyment,  but  who,  when  pursuing  it,  gravitated 
naturally  to  the  coarsest  forms.  The  mission  of  Epicurean- 
ism was  therefore  chiefly  negative.  The  anti-patriotic  tendency 
of  its  teaching  contributed  to  that  destruction  of  national 
feeling  which  was  necessary  to  the  rise  of  cosmopolitanism , 
while  its  strong  opposition  to  theological  beliefs,  supported  by 
the  genius  and  enthusiasm  of  Lucretius,  told  powerfully  upon 
the  decaying  faith. 

Such  being  the  functions  of  Epicureanism,  the  constiiic- 
tive  or  positive  side  of  ethical  teaching  devolved  almost 
exclusively  upon  Stoicism  ;  for  although  there  were  a  few 
philosophers  who  ex2:)ressed  themselves  in  strong  opposition  to 
some  portions  of  the  Stoical  system,  their  efforts  usually 
tended  to  no  more  than  a  modification  of  its  extreme  and 
harshest  features.  The  Stoics  asserted  two  cardinal  principles 
— that  virtue  was  the  sole  legitimate  object  to  be  aspired  to, 
and  that  it  involved  so  complete  an  ascendancy  of  the  reason 
as  altogether  to  extinguish  the  affections.  The  Peripatetics 
and  many  other  philosophers,  who  derived  their  opinions 
chiefly  from  Plato,  endeavoured  to  soften  down  the  exaggera- 
tion of  these  principles.  They  admitted  that  virtue  was 
an  object  wholly  distinct  from  interest,  and  that  it  should  be 
the  leading  motive  of  life ;  Ijut  they  maintained  that  happi- 
ness was  also  a  good,  and  a  certain  regard  for  it  legitimate. 
They  admitted  that  virtue  consisted  in  the  supremacy  of  the 
reason  OA^er  the  affections,  but  they  allowed  the  exercise  of 
the  latter  within  restricted  limits.  The  main  distinsruishinoj 
features,  however,  of  Stoicism,  the  unselfish  ideal  and  the 
conti-oUing  reason,  were  acquiesced  in,  and  each  represents 
an  important  side  of  the  ancient  conception  of  excellence 
which  we  must  now  proceed  to  examine. 

In  the  first  we  may  easily  trace  the  intellectual  expression 
of  the  high  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  which  the  patriotic  en- 
thusiasm had  elicited.  The  spirit  of  patriotism  has  this  pecu- 
jar  characteristic,  that,  while  it  has  evoked  acts  of  heroism 


178  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

whicTi  are  both  very  numerous  and  very  sublime,  it  has  done 
so  without  presenting  any  prospect  of  personal  immortality 
as  a  reward.  Of  all  the  forms  of  human  heroism,  it  is  pro- 
bably the  most  unselfish.  The  Spartan  and  the  Ftoman  died 
for  his  country  because  he  loved  it.  The  martyi''s  ecstasy  }f 
hope  had  no  place  in  his  dying  hour.  He  gave  up  all  Le 
had,  he  closed  his  eyes,  as  he  believed,  for  ever,  and  he  asked 
for  no  reward  in  this  world  or  in  the  next.  Even  the  hoi)e 
of  posthumous  fame — the  most  refined  and  supersensual  of 
all  that  can  be  called  reward — could  exist  only  for  the  most 
conspicuous  leaders.  It  was  examples  of  this  nature  that 
formed  the  culminations  or  ideals  of  ancient  systems  of 
virtue,  and  they  naturally  led  men  to  draw  a  very  clear  and 
deep  distinction  between  the  notions  of  interest  and  of  duty. 
It  may,  indeed,  be  truly  said,  that  while  the  conception  of 
what  constituted  duty  was  often  very  nnperfect  in  antiquity, 
the  conviction  that  duty,  as  distinguished  from  every  modifi- 
cation of  selfishness,  should  be  the  supreme  motive  of  life 
was  more  clearly  enforced  among  the  Stoics  than  in  any  later 
society. 

The  reader  will  probably  have  gathered  from  the  last 
chapter  that  tbere  are  four  distinct  motives  which  moral 
teachers  may  propose  for  the  purpose  of  leading  men  to 
virtue.  They  may  argue  that  the  disposition  of  events  is 
such  that  prosperity  will  attend  a  virtuous  life,  and  adver- 
sity a  vicious  one — a  proposition  they  may  prove  by  pointing 
to  the  normal  course  of  afiairs,  and  by  asserting  the  existence 
of  a  special  Providence  in  behalf  of  the  good  in  the  present 
world,  and  of  rewards  and  punishments  in  the  future.  As 
far  as  these  latter  arguments  are  concerned,  the  efiicacy  of 
such  teaching  rests  upon  the  firmness  with  which  certain 
theological  tenets  are  held,  while  the  force  of  the  fii'st  con- 
siderations will  depend  upon  the  degree  and  manner  in 
irhich  society  is  organised,  for  there  are  undoubtedly  some 
conditions  of  society  in  which  a  perfectly  upright  life  has 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  179 

not  even  a  general  tendency  to  prosperity.  The  peculiar 
circamstances  and  dispositions  of  individuals  will  also  in- 
fluence  largely  the  way  in  which  they  receive  such  teacrhing, 
and,  as  Cicero  observed,  '  what  one  utility  has  created, 
another  will  often  destroy.' 

They  may  argue,  again,  that  vice  is  to  the  mind  what 
disease  is  to  the  body,  and  that  a  state  of  virtue  is  in 
consequence  a  state  of  health.  Just  as  bochly  health  is 
desired  for  its  own  sake,  as  being  the  absence  of  a  painful, 
or  at  least  displeasing  state,  so  a  well-ordered  and  virtuous 
mind  may  be  valued  for  its  own  sake,  and  independently  of 
all  the  external  good  to  which  it  may  lead,  as  being  a 
condition  of  happiness ;  and  a  mind  distracted  by  passion  and 
vice  may  be  avoided,  not  so  much  because  it  is  an  obstacle  in 
the  pursuit  of  prosperity,  as  because  it  is  in  itself  essentially 
painful  and  disturbing.  This  conception  of  virtue  and  vice 
as  states  of  health  or  sickness,  the  one  being  in  itself  a  good 
and  the  other  in  itself  an  evil,  was  a  fundamental  proposition 
in  the  ethics  of  Plato.'  It  was  admitted,  but  only  to  a 
subsidiary  place,  by  the  Stoics, ^  and  has  passed  more  or  less 


'  Mr.  Grote  gives  the  following  by  bringing  to  him  happiness  in 
very  clear  summary  of  Plato's  itself;  next,  also,  as  it  leads  to 
ethical  theory,  which  he  believes  ulterior  happy  results.  The  un- 
to be  original  :—*  Justice  is  in  the  just  mind  is  a  curse  to  its  possessor 
mind  a  condition  analogous  to  good  in  itself  and  apart  from  results, 
health  and  strength  in  the  body,  though  it  also  leads  to  ulterior 
Injustice  is  a  condition  analogous  results  which  render  it  still  more 
to  sickness,  corruption,  impotence  a  curse  to  him.' — Gvote's  Plato,  vol. 
in  the  body.  ...  To  possess  a  iii  p.  lol.  According  to  Plutarch, 
healthy  body  is  desirable  for  its  Aristo  of  Chio  defined  virtue  as 
consequences  as  a  means  towards  'the  health  of  the  soul.'  {De 
other  constituents  of  happiness,  Vlrtute  Afora'i.) 
but  it  is  still  more  desirable  in  '•^ 'Beata  est  ergo  vita  conveniens 
itself  as  an  essential  element  of  naturae  suse ;  quae  non  aliter  con- 
happiness  per  PC,  i.e.,  the  negation  tingere  potest  quam  si  primum  sana 
of  sickness,  which  would  of  itself  mens  est  et  in  perpetua  posses":ione 
make  us  miserable.  ...  In  like  sanitatis  sune.' — Seneca,  De  Vita 
manner,  tho  just  mind  blesses  the  Bcata,  c.  iii. 
possessor  twice:    first  and  chiefly 


180  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

into  all  tlie  succeeding  systems.  It  is  especially  favoutablo 
fco  large  and  elevating  conceptions  of  self-culture,  for  it  leads 
men  to  dwell  much  less  upon  isolated  acts  of  virtue  or  vice 
than  upon  the  habitual  condition  of  mind  from  which  they 
spring. 

It  is  possible,  in  the  thii^d  place,  to  argue  in  favour  of 
virtue  by  offering  as  a  motive  that  sense  of  pleasure  which 
follows  the  deliberate  performance  of  a  virtuous  act.  This 
emotion  is  a  distinct  and  isolated  gratification  following  a 
distinct  action,  and  may  therefore  be  easily  separated  from 
that  habitual  placidity  of  temper  which  results  from  the 
extinction  of  vicious  and  perturbing  impulses.  It  is  this  theory 
which  is  implied  in  the  common  exhortations  to  enjoy 'the 
luxury  of  doing  good,'  and  though  especially  strong  in  acts  of 
benevolence,  in  which  case  sympathy  with  the  happiness 
created  intensifies  the  feeling,  this  pleasiu-e  attends  every 
kind  of  vir-tue. 

These  three  motives  of  action  have  all  this  common  charac- 
teristic, that  they  point  as  their  ultimate  end  to  the  happiness 
of  the  agent.  The  first  seeks  that  happiness  in  external  cir- 
cumstances ;  the  second  and  third  in  psychological  conditions. 
There  is,  however,  a  fourth  kind  of  motive  which  may  be 
urged,  and  which  is  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  intuitive 
school  of  moralists  and  the  stumbling-block  of  its  opponents. 
It  is  asserted  that  we  are  so  constituted  that  the  notion  of 
duty  furnishes  in  itself  a  natural  motive  of  action  of  the 
highest  order,  wholly  distinct  from  all  the  refinements 
and  modifications  of  self-interest.  The  coactive  force  of  this 
motive  is  altogether  independent  of  surrounding  circum- 
stances, and  of  all  forms  of  belief  It  is  equally  true  for  the 
man  who  believes  and  for  the  man  who  rejects  the  Christian 
faith,  for  the  believer  in  a  future  world  and  for  the  beUever 
in  the  mortality  of  the  soul.  It  is  not  a  question  of  hap- 
piness or  unhappiness,  of  reward  or  punishment,  but  of  a 
generically  different  nature.     Men  feel  that  a  certain  course 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  18\ 

of  life  is  the  natui-al  end  of  theb  being,  and  they  feel  bound, 
even  at  the  expense  of  happiness,  to  pursue  it.  They  feel 
that  certain  acts  are  essentially  good  and  noble,  and  others 
essentially  base  and  vile,  and  this  perception  leads  them  to 
pursue  the  one  and  to  avoid  the  other,  irrespective  of  all 
considerations  of  enjoyment. 

I  have  recurred  to  these  distinctions,  which  were  more 
fully  discussed  in  the  last  chapter,  because  the  school  of 
philosophy  we  are  reviewing  furnishes  the  most  pei  feet  of  all 
historical  examples  of  the  power  which  the  higher  of  these 
motives  can  exercise  over  the  mind.  The  coarser  forms  of 
self-interest  were  in  stoicism  absolutely  condemned.  It  was 
one  of  the  first  principles  of  these  philosophers  that  all  things 
that  are  not  in  our  power  should  be  esteemed  indifferent ; 
that  the  object  of  all  mental  discipline  should  be  to  -withdraw 
the  mind  from  all  the  gifts  of  fortune,  and  that  prudence 
must  in  consequence  be  altogether  excluded  from  the  motives  of 
virtue.  To  enforce  these  principles  they  continually  dilated 
upon  the  vanity  of  human  things,  and  upon  the  majesty  of  the 
independent  mind,  and  they  indulged,  though  scarcely  moiw 
than  other  sects,  in  many  exaggerations  about  the  impassive 
tranquillity  of  the  sage. '  In  the  Roman  empii'e  stoicism 
flourished  at  a  period  which,  beyond  almost  any  ^ther, 
seemed  imfavourable  to  such  teaching.  There  were  reigns 
when,  in  the  emphatic  words  of  Tacitus,  '  virtue  was  a 
sentence  of  death.'  In  no  period  had  brute  force  more 
completely  triumphed,  in  none  was  the  thirst  for  material 
advantages  more  intense,  in  very  few  was  vice  more  ostenta- 
tiously glorified.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  all  these  cii-cumstances 
the  Stoics  taught  a  philosophy  which  was  not  a  compromise, 
or  an  attempt  to  moderate  the  popular  excesses,  but  wliich 


^  The  famous  paradox  that  'the  — though  the  Stoics   adopted  and 

eage  could  be  happy  even  in   the  greatly  admii'ed  it.     (Cic.  Ttac.  ii, 

lull  of  Phalaris,'  comes  from  the  See  Gassendi,  PhiJos.  Epicuri  Syn' 

irritings  not  ofZeno  but  of  Epicurus  tagma,  pars  iii.  c.  1.) 


182  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

wan  rather  m  its  austere  sanctity  the  extreme  antithesis  of 
all  that  the  prevailing  examples  and  their  own  interests  could 
dictate.  And  these  men  were  no  impassioned  fanatics,  fired 
with  the  prospect  of  coming  glory.  They  were  men  from 
whose  motives  of  action  the  belief  in  the  immortality  of  tlis 
Boul  was  resolutely  excluded.  In  the  scepticism  that  accom  • 
panied  the  first  introduction  of  philosophy  into  Rome,  in  tbo 
dissolution  of  the  old  fables  about  Tartarus  and  the  Styx, 
and  the  dissemination  of  Epicureanism  among  the  people, 
this  doctrine  had  sunk  very  low,  notwithstanding  the  beautiful 
reasonings  of  Cicero  and  the  religious  faith  of  a  few  who 
clung  like  Plutarch  to  the  mysteries  in  which  it  was 
perpetuated.  An  interlocutor  in  Cicero  expressed  what 
was  probably  a  common  feeling  when  he  acknowledged  that, 
with  the  writings  of  Plato  before  him,  he  could  believe  and 
realise  it;  but  when  he  closed  the  book,  the  reasonings 
seemed  to  lose  their  power,  and  the  world  of  spiiits  grew 
pale  and  unreal.^  If  Ennius  could  elicit  the  plaudits  of  a 
theatre  when  he  proclaimed  that  the  gods  took  no  part  in 
human  affairs,  Caesar  could  assert  in  the  senate,  without 
scandal  and  almost  without  dissent,  that  death  was  the 
end  of  all  things. ^  Pliny,  perhaps  the  greatest  of  Eoman 
schoW,rs,  adopting  the  sentiment  of  all  the  school  of  Epicu- 
rus, describes  the  belief  in  a  future  life  as  a  form  of  madness, 
a  puerile  and  a  pernicious  illusion. ^  The  opinions  of  the 
Stoics  were  wavering  and  imcertain.  Their  first  doctrine  was 
that  the  soul  of  man  has  a  future  and  independent,  but  not 


'  'Sed  nescio  qxiomodo  dum  lego  happiest  end  of  man  is  a  favourite 

assentior;    cum   posui    librum    et  thought  of  Lucretius.     Thus: 

mecum      ipse      de     immortalitate  '  Nil  igitur  mors  est,  ad  nos  neque 

animorum      coepi      cogitare,      as-  pertinet  hilum, 

sensio    omnis   ilia   elabitur.'— Cic.  Quandoquidem  natura  animi  mor- 

Tusc.  i.  talis  habetur.' — iii.  842. 

-^  Sallust,  Catilina,  cap,  11.  This  mode  of  thought  has  been  re- 

'See  that  most  impressive  pas-  cently  expressed  in  Mr.  Swinburne's 

gage   {Hist.    Nat.   vii,    56).      That  very  beaut ifnl  poem  on  7'Ae  6^ar(Z«i 

the    sleex)  of  annihilation    Is   the  of  Proserjnne. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE  183 

ail  eternal  existouce,  that  it  survives  until  tlie  last  couflagi'a- 
tion  which  v.^as  to  destroy  the  woi-ld,  and  absorb  all  finite 
things  into  the  all-pervading  soul  of  nature.  Chrysippus, 
however,  restricted  to  the  best  and  noblest  souls  this  future 
existence,  which  Clean thes  had  awarded  to  all,'  and  among  the 
Roman  Stoics  even  this  was  greatly  doubted.  The  belief 
that  the  human  soul  is  a  detached  fragment  of  the  Deity 
naturally  led  to  the  belief  that  after  death  it  would  be 
reabsorbed  into  the  parent  Spiiit.  The  doctrine  that  there  is 
no  real  good  but  virtue  deprived  the  Stoics  of  the  argument 
for  a  future  world  derived  from  unrequited  merit  and  un- 
punished crime,  and  the  earnestness  with  which  they  contended 
that  a  good  man  should  act  irrespectively  of  reward  inclined 
them,  as  it  is  said  to  have  inclined  some  Jewish  thinkers,^  to 
the  denial  of  the  existence  of  the  reward.^  Pansetius,  the 
founder  of  Roman  stoicism,  maintained  that  the  soul  perished 
WT.tb  the  body,''  and  his  opinion  was  followed  by  Epictetus,'"^ 
and  Cornutus.''     Seneca  contradicted  himself  on  the  subject  J 


'  Diog.   Laertiiis.     The   opinion  '  On  the  Stoical  opinions  about 

of  Chrysippus  seems  to  have  pre-  a  future  life   see    ^Martin,  La    Vie 

vailed,    and   Plutarch    {De   Placit.  future  (Paris,  1858) ;  Courclavearuc 

Philos.)  speaks  of  it  as  that  of  the  De   Cimmortalite   de    lame  dans  le 

school.     Cicero   sarcastically  says,  iSYoiWs/;?^  (Paris,  1857) ;  and  Alger's 

'  Stoici   autem   usuram   nobis   lar-  Critical  hist,  of  the  Doctrine  of  a 

giuntur,  tanquam    cornicibus  :    diu  i^wi;?/re  i//e  (New  York,  1866). 

mansuros   aiunt    animos ;    semper,  ••  His    arguments    are    met     by 

negant.' — Tusc.  Disp.  i.  31.  Cicero  in  the  Tusculans. 

'  It  has  been  very  frequently  as-  ^  See   a    collection    of    passages 

serted   that    Antigonus    of    Socho  from  his  discourses  collected  by  M. 

having   taught  that  virtue  should  Courdaveaux.  in  the  introductiun  to 

be  practised  for  its  own  sake,  his  his  Prcnch  translation  of  that  book. 

disciple,  Zadok,  the  founder  of  the  ^  Stobaeus,  Eclog.  Physic,    lib.   i. 

Sadducees,  inferred  the  non-exist-  cap.  52. 

ence  of  a  future  world;    but    the  "  In  his  consolations  to  Marcia. 

evidence   for   this   whole   story  is  he  seems  to  incline  to  a  belief  in 

exceedingly    unsatisfactory.      The  the   immortality,  or   at   least   the 

reader   may  find   its   history  in  a  future  existence,  of  the  soul.     In 

very   remarkable   article    by   Mr.  many  other  passages,  however,  ha 

Twisleton  on  Sadducecs,  in  Smith's  speaks    of    it    as    annihilated    at 

Biblical  Dictionary.  death. 


184  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS, 

Marcus  Aurelius  never  rose  beyond  a  vague  and  mournfal 
aspiiation.  Those  who  believed  in  a  futuie  world  believed  in 
it  faintly  and  uncei-tainly,  and  even  when  they  accepted  it  as 
a  fact,  they  shrank  fiom  proposing  it  as  a  motive.  The 
whole  systera  of  Stoical  ethics,  w-hich  carried  self-sacriiice  to  a 
point  that  has  scarcely  been  equalled,  and  exercised  an 
influence  which  has  rarely  been  surpassed,  was  evolved 
without  any  assistance  from  the  doctrine  of  a  future  life.' 
Pagan  antiquity  has  bequeathed  us  few  nobler  treatises  of 
morals  than  the  '  De  Officiis '  of  Cicero,  which  was  avowedly 
an  expansion  of  a  work  of  Pansetius.^  It  has  left  us  no 
grander  example  than  that  of  Epictetus,  the  sickly,  deformed 
slave  of  a  master  who  was  notorious  for  his  barbarity, 
enfranchised  late  in  life,  but  soon  driven  into  exile  by 
Domitian  ;  who,  while  sounding  the  very  abyss  of  human 
misery,  and  lookiug  forward  to  death  as  to  simple  decom- 
position, was  yet  so  filled  with  the  sense  of  the  Divine 
presence  that  his  life  was  one  continued  hymn  to  Providence, 
and  his  writings  and  his  example,  which  appeared  to  his 
contemporaries  almost  the  ideal  of  human  goodness,  have 
not  lost  their  consoling  power  through  all  the  ages  and  the 
vicissitudes  they  have  survived.^ 

'  'Les  Stoiciens  ne  fiiisaient  au-  blessings  of  his  life,  that  he  had 

eunement  depeiiclre  la  morale  de  la  lean   made   acquainted    with    the 

perspective   des    peines   on    de   la  writings  of  Epictetus.     The  story 

remuneration  dans  une  A-ie  future,  is  well  known  iiow  the  old  philoso- 

...  La  croyance  a  Timmortalite  pher  warned  his  master,  who  was 

de  r&nie  nappartenait  done,  selon  leatiug   him,  that    he  would  soon 

leur  maniere  de  voir,  qu  a  la  phy-  break   his    leg.  and  when   the  leg 

sique,  c'est-a-dire  a  la  psychologie.'  was   broken,  calmly  remarked,  '1 

Degerando.    Hist,   de   la   Philos.  told  you  you  would  do  so.'     Celsiis 

tome  iii.  p.  56.  quoted    this   in   opposition  to  the 

2  'Pansetius  igitur,  qui  sine  con-  Christians,  asking,  '  Did  your  leader 
trovorsia  de  officiis  accuratissime  under  suffering  ever  say  anything 
disputaA-it,  quemque  nos,  correc-  so  noMe?'  Origen  finely  replied, 
lione  quadam  adhibita,  potissimum  '  He  did  what  was  still  nobler — He 
Bocuti  snmns.'—De  Offic.  iii.  2.  kept  silence.'    A  Christian  anchorite 

3  Marcus  Aurelius  thanks  Pro-  (some  say  Pt.  Nilus,  who  lived  in 
vidence.  as   for   one  of  the  great  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century) 


THE    TAGAN    EMPIRE.  185 

There  was,  however,  another  form  of  immortality  which 
exercised  a  much  gi-eater  influence  among  the  Roman  moral* 
ists.  The  desire  for  reputation,  and  especially  for  posthu- 
mous reputation — that  'last  infirmity  of  nohle  minds''— 
assumed  an  extraordinary  prominence  among  the  springs  of 
Jloman  heroism,  and  vras  also  the  origin  of  that  theatrical 
and  overstrained  phraseology  which  the  greatest  of  ancient 
moralists  rarely  escaped. ^  But  we  should  be  altogether  in 
error  if  we  inferred,  as  some  have  done,  that  paganism  never 
rose  to  the  conception  of  virtue  concealing  itself  from  the 
world,  and  consenting  voluntarily  to  degradation.  No 
characters  were  more  highly  appreciated  in  antiquity  than 
those  of  men  who,  through  a  sense  of  duty,  opposed  the 
strong  current  of  popular  favour ;  of  men  like  Fabius,  who 
consented  for  the  sake  of  their  country  to  incur  the  reputa- 
tion that  is  most  fatal  to  a  soldier ;  ^  of  men  like  Cato,  who 
remained  unmoved  among  the  scofls,  the  insults,  and  the 
)'idicule  of  an  angry  crowd. ^  Cicero,  expounding  the  princi- 
ples of  Stoicism,  declared  that  no  one  has  attained  to  true 
philosophy  who  has  not  learnt  that  all  vice  should  be 
avoided,  '  though  it  were  concealed  from  the  eyes  of  gods  and 
men,'-^  and  that  no  deeds  are  more  laudable  than  those  which 
are  done  without  ostentation,  and  far  from  the  sight  of  men.^ 


was  so  stvuckwith.  the  E?ickiridion  to  the  historian  Lucceius  (Ep.  ad 

of  Epictetus,  that  he  adapted  it  to  Divers,  v.  12) ;  and  of  the  younger 

Christian  nse.     The  conversations  Pliny    to    Tacitus    (Ep.    vii.    33). 

of  Epictetus,  as  reported  by  Arriau,  Cicero  has  himself  confessed  that 

are  said  to  have  been  the  favourite  he  was  too  fond  of  glory, 

reading  of  Toussaint  I'Ouverture.  ^  '  Unus   homo   nobis  cunctando 

'  Tacitus  had  used  this  expression  restituit  rem  ; 

before  Milton  :  '  Quando  etiara  sa-  Non   ponebat   enim   rumores  ante 

piontibus  cupido  gloriae  novissima  salutera.'— Ennius. 

exuitur.' — Hisi.  iv.  6.  *  See  the  beautiful  description  of 

2  Two  remarkable  instances  have  Cato's   tranquillity   under   insults, 

comedown  to  us  of  eminent  writers  Seneca,  Be  Ira,  ii.  33;   Be  Ccnat 

begging   historians   to   adorn    and  Sap.  1,  2. 

even   exaggerate   their   acts.     See  ^  Be  Officiis,  iii.  9. 

the  very  curious  letters  of  Cicero  ^  Tiisc.  ii.  26. 

14 


186  nisTORr  of  European  morals. 

The  wiitings  of  the  Stoics  are  crowded  with  sentences  to  the 
same  effect.  '  ISTothing  for  opinion,  all  for  conscience.'  ^  '  He 
who  wishes  his  vii-tiie  to  be  blazed  abroad  is  not  labouring 
for  virtue  but  for  fame.'^  '  Ko  one  is  more  ^drtuous  than 
tiie  man  who  sacrif  ces  the  reputation  of  a  good  man  rather 
than  sacrifice  his  conscience.'^  '  I  do  not  shrink  from  praise, 
but  I  refuse  to  make  it  the  end  and  term  of  right.''  'If 
you  do  anj^hiQg  to  please  men,  you  have  fjillen  from  your 
estfi,te.'^  'Even  a  bad  reputation  nobly  earned  is  pleasing.''' 
*  A  great  man  is  not  the  less  great  when  he  lies  vanquished 
and  prostrate  in  the  dust.'^  'Never  forget  that  it  is  possible 
to  be  at  once  a  divine  man,  yet  a  man  unknown  to  all  the 
world.'*  '  That  which  is  beautiful  is  beautiful  in  itself;  the 
praise  of  man  adds  nothing  to  its  quality.'^  Marcus 
Aurelius,  following  an  example  that  is  ascribed  to  Pytha- 
goras, made  it  a  special  object  of  mental  discipline,  by  con- 
tinually meditating  on  death,  and  evoking,  by  an  effoit  of 
the  imagination,  whole  societies  that  had  passed  away,  to 
acquire  a  realised  sense  of  the  vanity  of  posthumous  fame. 
The  younger  Pliny  painted  faithfully  the  ideal  of  Stoicism 
when  he  described  one  of  liis  friends  as  a  man  'who  did 
nothing  for  ostentation,  but  all  for  conscience ;  who  sought 
the  reward  of  vii-tue  in  itself,  and  not  in  the  praise  of  man.'  ^^ 
Nor  were  the  Stoics  less  emphatic  in  distinguishing  the  obli- 
gation from  the  attraction  of  virtue.  It  was  on  this  point 
that  they  separated  from  the  more  refined  Epicureans,  who 
were  often  wiJun-  to  sublimate  to  the  highest  degree  the  kind 
of  pleasure  they  proposed  as  an  object,  provided  only  it  were 
admitted  that  pleasure  is  necessarily  the  ultimate  end  of  our 
actions.     But  this  the  Stoics  fii^mly  denied.     '  Pleasure,' thej 


'  Seneca.  De  Vit.  Btat.  c.  xx.  ^  Seneca,  I)e  Ira,  in.  41. 

-  Seneca,  Ep.  cxiii.  ^  Seneca,  Cons,  ad  Helv.  xiii. 

'  Seneca,  Ep.  Ixxxi.  ^  Marc.  Aur.  vii.  67 

*  Persius,  Sat.  i.  45  47.  ^  Marc.  Aur.  iv.  20. 

'  Epictetts,  Ench.  xxiii.  '"  Pliny,  Ep.  i.  22. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIKE.  18? 

argued,  'is  the  companion,  not  the  guide,  of  oul'  course.'' 
'  We  do  not  love  viitue  because  it  giv^es  us  pleasure,  but  it 
gives  us  pleasure  because  we  love  it.'^  '  The  wise  man  will 
nob  sin,  though  both  gods  and  men  should  overlook  the  de'3C', 
for  it  is  not  through  the  fear  of  punishment  or  of  shar.ie 
that  he  abstains  from  sin.  It  is  from  the  desii'e  and  obliga- 
tion of  what  is  just  and  good.'^  'To  ask  to  be  paid  for 
virtue  is  as  if  the  eye  demanded  a  recompense  for  seeing,  or 
the  feet  for  walking.''*  In  doing  good,  man  '  should  be  like 
the  vine  which  has  produced  grapes,  and  asks  for  nothing 
more  after  it  has  produced  its  proper  fruit.' ^  His  end, 
according  to  these  teachers,  is  not  to  find  peace  either  in  life 
or  in  death.     It  is  to  do  his  duty,  and  to  tell  the  truth. 

The  second  distinguishing  feature  of  Stoicism  I  have 
noticed  was  the  complete  suppression  of  the  affections  to 
make  way  for  the  absolute  ascendancy  of  reason.  There  are 
two  great  divisions  of  character  corresponding  very  nearly  to 
the  Stoical  and  Epicurean  temperaments  I  have  described — 
that  in  which  the  will  predominates,  and  that  in  which  the 
desires  are  supreme.  A  good  man  of  the  first  c^ass  is  one 
whose  will,  directed  by  a  sense  of  duty,  pursues  the  course  he 
believes  to  be  right,  in  spite  of  strong  temptations  to  pursue 
an  oi)posite  course,  arising  either  from  his  own  passions  and 
tendencies,  or  from  the  circumstances  that  surround  him.  A 
good  man  of  the  second  class  is  one  who  is  so  happily  consti- 
tuted that  his  sympathies  and  desires  instinctively  tend  to 
virtuous  ends.  The  first  character  is  the  only  one  to  which 
we  can,  strictly  speaking,  attach  the  idea  of  merit,  and  it  is 
also  the  only  one  which  is  capable  of  rising  to  high  efibrts  of 


'  'Non  dux,  sed  comes  voluptas.'        '  Peregrinus  apud  Aul.  Gellius, 

— De  Vit.  Beat.  c.  x\\\.  xii.   11.     Peregrinus  vas  a  Cynic, 

'^  '  Voluptas  non  est  merces  nee  but  his  doctrine  on  this  point  wan 

causa  virtutis  Bed  accessio  ;  nee  quia  identical  with  that  of  the  Stoics, 
deleetat  placet  sed  quia  placet  de-        *  Marc.  Aurel.  ix.  42. 
lectat.' — Ibid.,  c.  ix.  ^  Marc.  Aurel.  v.  6. 


188  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

continue  US  and  heroic  solf-sacrifice ;  but  on  the  other  hand 
there  is  a  charm  in  the  spontaneous  action  of  the  unforced 
desires  which  disciplined  virtue  can  perhaps  never  attain. 
The  man  who  is  consistently  generous  through  a  sense  of 
duty,  when  his  natural  temperament  impels  him  to  avarice, 
and  when  every  exercise  of  benevolence  causes  him  a  pang, 
deserves  in  the  very  highest  degree  our  admii-ation  ;  but  he 
whose  generosity  costs  him  no  effort,  but  is  the  natural 
gratification  of  his  affections,  attracts  a  far  larger  measure  of 
our  love.  Corresponding  to  these  two  casts  of  character,  we 
find  two  distinct  theories  of  education,  the  aim  of  the  one 
being  chiefly  to  strengthen  the  will,  and  that  of  the  other  to 
guide  the  desires.  The  piincipal  examples  of  the  fii'st  are  the 
Spartan  and  Stoical  systems  of  antiquity,  and,  with  some 
modifications,  the  asceticism  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  object 
of  these  systems  was  to  enable  men  to  endure  pain,  to  repress 
manifest  and  acknowledged  desires,  to  relinquish  enjoyments, 
to  establish  an  absolute  empire  over  their  emotions.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  a  method  of  education  which  was  never 
more  prevalent  than  in  the  present  day,  which  exhausts  its 
efforts  in  maldng  virtue  attractive,  in  associating  it  with  all 
the  charms  of  imagination  and  of  prosperity,  and  in  thus 
insensibly  drawing  the  desires  in  the  wished-for  direction. 
As  the  first  system  is  especially  suited  to  a  distui-bed  and 
military  society,  which  requires  and  elicits  strong  efforts  of 
the  will,  and  is  therefore  the  s]:>ecial  sphere  of  heroic  virtues, 
so  the  latter  belongs  naturally  to  a  tranquil  and  highly  orga- 
nised civilisation,  which  is  therefore  very  favourable  to  the 
amiable  qualities,  and  it  is  probable  that  as  civilisation 
adv^ances,  the  heroic  type  will,  in  consequence,  become  more 
and  more  rare,  and  a  kind  of  self-indulgent  goodness  more 
common.  The  cii'cumstances  of  the  ancient  societies  led  them 
to  the  former  type,  of  which  the  Stoics  furnished  the  extreme 
expression  in  their  doctrine  that  the  affections  are  of  the 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  189 

nature  of  a  disease' — a  doctrine  whicli  they  justified  by  the 
same  kind  of  arguments  as  those  which  are  now  often 
ei  iployed  by  metaj)hysicians  to  prove  that  love,  anger,  and 
tlie  like  can  only  be  ascribed  by  a  figure  of  speech  to  the 
]J)eity.  Perturbation,  they  contended,  is  necessarily  imper- 
fection, and  none  of  its  forms  can  in  consequence  be  ascribed 
to  a  perfect  being.  We  have  a  clear  intuitive  perception 
lb  at  reason  is  the  highest,  and  should  be  the  directing,  power 
of  an  intelligent  being ;  but  eveiy  act  which  is  performed  at 
the  instigation  of  the  emotions  is  withdrawn  from  the  empire 
of  reason.  Hence  it  was  inferred  that  while  the  will  should 
be  educated  to  act  habitually  in  the  direction  of  virtue,  even 
bhe  emotions  that  seem  most  fitted  to  second  it  should  be 
absolutely  proscribed.  Thus  Seneca  has  elaborated  at  length 
the  distinction  between  clemency  and  pity,  the  first  being 
one  of  the  highest  virtues,  and  the  latter  a  positive  vice. 
Clemency,  he  says,  is  an  habitual  disposition  to  gentleness 
in  the  application  of  punishments.  Tt  is  that  moderation 
which  remits  something  of  an  incurred  penalty,  it  is  the  oppo- 
site of  cruelty,  which  is  an  lial^itual  disposition  to  rigour. 
Pity,  on  the  other  hand,  bears  to  clemency  the  same  kind  of 
relation  as  superstition  to  religion.  It  is  the  weakness  of  a 
feeble  mind  that  flinches  at  the  sight  of  sufiering.  Clemency 
is  an  act  of  judgment,  but  pity  disturbs  the  judgment. 
Clemency  adjudicates  upon  the  proportion  between  sufiering 
and  guilt.     Pity  contemplates   only  sufiering,  and  gives  no 


'  Senccji,  however,  in  one  of  bis  illustrates  this  distinction   by  ob- 

letters  {Ep.  Ixxv.),  subtilises  a  good  serving   that   colds  and  any  other 

deal    on    this  point.     He  draws  a  slight   ailments,   if   unchecked  and 

distinction  between  aifections  and  neglected,  may  produce  an  organic 

maladies.     The  first,  he  says,  are  disea.se.     The  wise    man,   he    says, 

irr.itioual,  and  therefore  reprehen-  is  wholly  free  from  moral  disease, 

Bible  movements  of  the  soul,  which,  but  no  man  can  complete  y  emanei- 

li'  repeated  and  unrepressed,  tend  pate  himself  from  affections,  though 

lo  firm  an  irrational  and  evil  habit,  he  should   make  this  his  constant 

and  to  the   last   he  in  this   letter  object. 
rcitricts    the    tenr     d'sease.     He 


[90  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    JJ ORALS. 

thought  to  its  cause.  Clemency,  in  the  midst  of  its  noblest 
eOforts,  is  perfectly  passionless ;  pity  is  unreasoning  emotion. 
Clemency  is  an  essential  characteristic  of  the  sage ;  pity  is 
onl}^  suited  for  weak  women  and  for  diseased  minds.  '  The 
page  will  console  those  who  weep,  but  without  weeping  with 
tbem;  he  will  succoui-  the  shipwrecked,  give  hospitality  t.^ 
the  proscribed,  and  alms  to  the  poor,  .  .  .  restore  the  son  to 
the  mother's  tears,  save  the  captive  from  the  arena,  and  even 
bury  the  criminal ;  but  in  all  this  his  mind  and  his  counten- 
ance will  be  alike  untroubled.  He  will  feel  no  pity.  He  will 
succour,  he  will  do  good,  for  he  is  born  to  assist  his  fellows, 
to  labour  for  the  welfare  of  mankind,  and  to  offer  to  each  one 
his  part.  .  .  .  His  countenance  and  his  soul  will  betray  no 
emotion  as  he  looks  upon  the  withered  legs,  the  tattered 
rags,  the  bent  and  emaciated  frame  of  the  beggar.  But  he 
will  help  those  who  are  worthy,  and,  like  the  gods,  his  leaning 
will  be  towards  the  wretched.  ...  It  is  only  diseased  eyes 
that  grow  moist  in  beholding  tears  m  other  eyes,  as  it  is  no 
true  sympathy,  but  only  weakness  of  nerves,  that  leads  some 
to  laugh  always  when  others  laugh,  or  to  yawn  when  others 
yawn.'  ^ 

Cicero,  in  a  sentence  which  might  be  adopted  as  the 
motto  of  Stoicism,  said  that  Homer  'attributed  human 
qualities  to  the  gods ;  it  would  have  been  better  to  have 
imparted  divine  qualities  to  men.'  The  remarkable  passage 
I  have  just  cited  servos  to  show  the  extremes  to  which  the 
Stoics  pushed  this  imitation.  And  indeed,  if  we  compare  the 
different  virtues  that  have  flourished  among  Pagans  and 
Chiistians,  we  invariably  find  that  the  prevailing  type  of 
excellence  among  the  former  is  that  in  which  the  will  and 
judgment,  and  among  the  latter  that  in  which  the  emotions,, 
are  most  prominent.  Friendship  rather  than  love,  hospitality 
rather   than   charity,  magnanimity  rather  than   tenderness, 


•  De  Clem.  ii.  6,  7- 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  191 

clemency  rather  than  sympathy,  are  the  characteristics  of 
ancient  goodness.  The  Stoics,  who  carried  the  suppression  of 
the  emotions  farther  than  any  other  school,  laboured  with  great 
zoni  to  compensate  the  injury  thus  done  to  the  benevolent 
sid  e  of  our  nature,  by  greatly  enlarging  the  sphere  of  reasoned 
and  passion 'ess  philanthropy.  They  taught,  in  t]  e  mo^t 
emphatic  language,  the  fraternity  of  all  men,  and  the  conao- 
quent  d.ity  of  each  man  consecrating  his  life  to  the  welfare 
of  others.  They  developed  this  general  doctrine  in  a  series  of 
detailed  precepts,  which,  for  the  range,  depth,  and  beauty  of 
theii'  charity,  have  never  been  surpassed.  They  even  extended 
their  compassion  to  crime,  and  adopting  the  paradox  of  Plato, 
that  all  guilt  is  ignorance,^  treated  it  as  an  involuntary 
disease,  and  declared  that  the  only  legitimate  ground  of 
punishment  is  prevention. ^  But,  however  folly  they  might 
reconcile  in  theory  their  principles  with  the  widest  and  most 
active  benevolence,  they  could  not  wholly  counteract  the 
practical  evil  of  a  system  which  declared  war  against  the 
who^e  emotional  side  of  our  being,  and  reduced  human  virtue 
to  a  kind  of  majestic  egotism ;  proposing  as  examples  Anaxa- 
goras,  who,  when  told  that  his  son  had  died,  simply  observed, 
'  I  never  supposed  that  I  had  begotten  an  immortal ; '  or 
Stilpo,  who,  when  Ms  country  had  been  ruined,  his  native 
city  captured,  and  his  daughters  carried  away  as  slaves  or  as 
concubines,  boasted  that  he  had  lost  nothing,  for  the  sage  is 
independent  of  circumstances.^     The  framework  or  theory  of 

'  '  Peccant esTero  quid  haljet  cur  cViiefly  expiatory  and  purificatory, 

oderit.  cum  error  illos  in  liujusmodi  (Levminier   bitrcd.  a  CRtstoire  dn 

delicta  compellat?' — Sen.  De  Ira,  Droit, -p-  123.) 

i.  14.     This  is  a  favourite  thought  ^  Seneca,  Be    Constant.    Sap.    v. 

of  Marcus   Aurelius,  to  which  he  Compare  and  contrast  this  fiiraous 

reverts  again  and  again.     See,  too,  sentence  of  i^naxngoras  with  tliat 

Arrian,  i.  18.  of  one  of  the  early  Christian  her- 

2  '  Ergo  ne  homini  quidem  noce-  mits.     Someone    told   tlie    hex-mit 

bimus  quia  peccavit  sed  ne  peccet,  that  his  father  was  dead.     '  Cease 

nee  unijxiam  ad  prseteritum  sed  ad  your  bksphemy,' he  answered,  'ray 

futurum  poena  referetiir.' — Ibid.  ii.  father    is    immortal.'  —  Socrates, 

31.     Ir    Ihfc   pliilosuphy  of  Plato,  Eccl.  Hist,  ix,  2d. 
on  the  ether  hand,  punishment  was^ 


192  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN}    MORALS. 

benevolence  might  be  there,  but  the  animating  spirit  was 
absent.  Men  who  taught  that  the  husband  or  the  father 
should  look  with  perfect  indifference  on  the  death  of  his  wife 
or  his  child,  and  that  the  philosopher,  though  he  may  shed 
tears  of  pretended  sympathy  in  order  to  console  his  suffering 
friend,  must  suffei'  no  real  emotion  to  penetrate  his  breast,' 
could  never  found  a  true  or  lasting  religion  of  benevolence. 
Men  who  refused  to  recognise  pain  and  sickness  as  evils  were 
scarcely  like'y  to  be  very  eager  to  relieve  them  in  othei-s. 

In  truth,  the  Stoics,  who  taught  that  all  virtue  was  con- 
foi-mity  to  nature,  were,  in  this  respect,  eminently  false  to 
fcheii'  own  piinciple.  Human  natiu-e,  as  revealed  to  us  by 
reason,  is  a  composite  thing,  a  constitution  of  many  parts 
differing  in  kind  and  dignity,  a  hierarchy  in  which  many 
powers  are  intended  to  co-exist,  but  in  different  positions  of 
ascendancy  or  subordination.  To  make  the  higher  part  of 
our  nature  our  whole  nature,  is  not  to  restore  but  to  muti- 
late humanity,  and  this  mutilation  has  never  been  attempted 
without  producing  gi^ave  evils.  As  philanthropists,  the 
Stoics,  through  their  passion  for  unity,  were  led  to  the  extir- 
pation of  those  emotions  which  nature  intended  as  the  chief 
springs  of  benevolence.  As  speculative  philosophers,  they 
were  entangled  by  the  same  desii-e  in  a  long  train  of  pitiable 
paradoxes.  Their  Yimous  doctrines  that  all  virtues  are  equal, 
or,  more  correctly,  are  the  same,  that  all  vices  are  equal,  that 
nothing  is  an  evil  which  does  not  affect  our  will,  and  that 
pain  and  bereavement  are,  in  consequence,  no  ills,^  though 

'  Fpictetus,  E7ich.  16,  18.  See  a  long  discussion  on  this  matter 

2  The     dispute    about    whether  in   Cicero  {Be  Finih.  lib.  iii.  iv.). 

anything  but" virtue  is  a  good,  was,  The  Stoical  doctrine  of  the  equality 

in    vealfty,    a    somewhat    childish  of  all  vices  was  formally  repudiated 

quarrel  about  words;  for  the  Stoics,  by    Marcus    Aurelius,    who    main- 

who    indignantly    denounced     the  t;iined  (ii.  10),  with  Theophrastus, 

Peripatetics   for   maintaining    the  that  faults   of  desire  were  worse 

affirmative,  admitted  that  health,  than  taults  of  anger.     The  other 

friends,  &c.,  should  be  sought  not  Stoics,  while  dogmatically  asserting 

as    'goods'   but    as   '  preferables.'  the  equality  of  all  virtues  as  well 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  193 

partiariy  explained  away  and  frequently  disregaj-ded  by  the 
Roman  Stoics,  were  yet  sufficiently  prominent  to  give  their 
t^-aching  something  of  an  unnatural  and  affected  appearance. 
3'rizing  ony  a  single  object,  and  developing  only  a  single  si  le 
of  their  natiu-e,  their  minds  became  narrow  and  their  views 
contracted.  Thus,  while  the  Epicureans,  urging  men  to 
Btady  nature  in  order  to  banish  vsuperstition,  endeavouied  to 
correct  that  ignorance  of  physical  science  which  was  one  of 
the  chief  impediments  to  the  progress  of  the  ancient  mind, 
the  Stoics  for  the  most  part  disdained  a  study  which  was 
other  than  the  pursuit  of  virtue.  ^  While  the  Epicurean  poet 
painted  in  magnificent  language  the  perpetual  progress  of 
mankind,  the  Stoic  was  essentially  retrospective,  and  ex- 
hausted his  strength  in  vain  efforts  to  restore  the  simplicity 
of  a  by-gone  age.  While,  too,  the  school  of  Zeno  produced 
many  of  the  best  and  gi-eatest  men  who  have  ever  lived,  it 
must  be  acknowledged  that  its  records  exhibit  a  rather  un- 
usual number  of  examples  of  high  pi-ofessions  falsified  in 
action,  and  of  men  who,  displaying  in  some  forms  the  most 
undoubted  and  ti-anscendent  virtue,  fell  in  others  far  be'.ow 
the  average  of  mankind.  The  elder  Cato,  who,  though  not 
a  philosopher,  was  a  model  of  philosophers,  was  conspicuous 
for  his  inhumanity  to  his  slaves.  ^  Brutus  was  one  of  the 
most  extortionate  usurers  of  his  time,  and  several  citizens 


as  the  equality  of  all  ^nces  in  their  tiira  cognita  levamur  superstitione, 

particular    judgments     graduated  liberanmr   mortis  raetu,  non   con- 

their  praise  or  blame  much  in  the  turbamur  ignoratione  rerum  '  {Be 

same  way  as  the  rest  of  the  world.  F'm.  i.);   and  Virgil  expressed  an 

'  See  Seneca  {Ep.  Ixxxix.).     8e-  eminently  Epicurean  sentiment  in 

neca  himself,  however,  has  devoted  his  famous  lines  : — 

a  work  to  natural  history,  but  the  '  Felix,  qui  potuit  rerum  cognoscere 

general  tendency  of  the  school  was  causas, 

certainly  to  concentrate  all  atten-  Quique  metusomnes  ot  inexoralile 

tion  upon  morals,  and  all,  or  nearly  fatum 

all  the  great  naturalists  were  Epi-  Subjecit      pedibu^,     strepitumque 

careans.      Cicero    puts    into    the  Acherontis  avari.' 

mouth  of  the  Epicurean  the  sen-  Gcorg.  490-492. 

tence,  'Omnium  autem  rerum  na-  -Plutarch,  Cato  Major. 


194  HISTORY    OF    EUllOrEAN    MORALS. 

of  Salamis  died  of  starvation,  imprisoned  because  they  conld 
not  pay  the  sum  he  demanded  J  No  one  eulogised  more  elo- 
quently the  austere  simpKcity  of  life  which  Stoicism  advocated 
than  Saliust,  who  in  a  corrupt  age  was  notoiious  for  his 
rapacity.  Seneca  himself  was  constitutionaPya  nervous  and 
timid  man,  endeavomdng.  not  always  mth  success,  to  suppoi-t 
himself  by  a  sublime  philosophy.  He  guided,  under  cii'cum- 
lEtances  of  extreme  difficulty,  the  cause  of  virtue,  and  his 
death  is  one  of  the  noblest  antiquity  records ;  but  his  life  was 
deeply  marked  by  the  taint  of  flattery,  and  not  free  from  the 
taint  of  avarice,  and  it  is  unhappily  certain  that  he  lent 
his  pen  to  conceal  or  varnish  one  of  the  worst  crimes  of 
Nero.  The  courage  of  Lucan  failed  signally  under  torture, 
and  the  flattery  which  he  bestowed  upon  Nero,  in  his 
'  Pharsalia,'  ranks  with  the  Epigrams  of  Martial  as  probably 
the  extreme  limit  of  sycophancy  to  which  Roman  literature 
descended. 

Whi'e,  too,  the  main  object  of  the  Stoics  was  to  popu- 
larise philosophy,  the  high  standard  of  self-control  they 
exacted  rendered  theii'  system  exceedingly  unfit  for  the  great 
majority  of  mankind,  and  for  the  ordinary  condition  of 
affaii's.  Life  is  histoiy,  not  poetiy.  It  consists  mainly  of 
little  things,  lurely  illumined  by  flashes  of  great  heroism, 
rarely  broken  by  great  dangers,  or  demanding  great  exertions. 
A  moral  system,  to  govern  society,  must  accommodate  itself 
to  common  characters  and  mingled  motives.  It  must  be 
capable  of  influencing  natures  that  can  never  rise  to  an 
heroic  level.  It  must  tincture,  modify,  and  mitigate  where 
it  cannot  eradicate  or  transform.  In  Chiistianity  there  are 
always  a  few  persons  seeking  by  continual  and  painful  efforts 
tc  reverse  or  extinguish  the  ordinary  feelings  of  humanity, 
hit  in  the  gi-eat  majority  of  cases  the  influence  of  the  religious 
pjijici})le  upon  the  mind,  though  very  real,  is  not  of  a  natui-e 


Cicero,  Ad  Attic,  vi.  2. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  195 

to  cause  aDy  serious  strain  or  struggle.  It  is  displayed  in  a 
certain  acquired  spontaneity  of  impulse.  It  softens  the 
character,  purifies  and  directs  the  imagination,  blends  insensi- 
bly with  the  habitual  modes  of  thought,  and,  without  revo- 
lutionising, gives  a  tone  and  bias  to  all  the  forms  of  action. 
But  Stoicism  was  simply  a  school  of  heroes.  It  recognised 
no  gradations  of  virtue  or  vice.  It  condemned  all  emotions, 
all  spontaneity,  all  mingled  motives,  all  the  principles,  feelings, 
and  impulses  upon  which  the  virtue  of  common  men  mainly 
depends.  It  was  capable  of  acting  only  on  moral  natures 
that  were  strung  to  the  highest  tension,  and  it  was  therefore 
naturally  rejected  by  the  multitude. 

The  central  conception  of  this  philosojjhy  of  se'f-control 
was  the  dignity  of  man.  Pride,  which  looks  within  making 
man  seek  his  own  approbation,  as  distinguished  from  vanity, 
which  looks  without,  and  shapes  its  conduct  according  to  the 
opinions  of  others,  was  not  only  permitted  in  Stoicism,  it  was 
even  its  leading  moral  agent.  The  sense  of  virtue,  as  I  have 
elsewhere  observed,  occupies  in  this  system  much  the  same 
place  as  the  sense  of  sin  in  Christianity.  Sin,  in  the  con- 
ception of  the  ancients,  was  simply  disease,  and  they  deemed 
it  the  pai-t  of  a  wise  man  to  correct  it,  but  not  to  dwell  upon 
its  circumstances.  In  the  many  disquisitions  which  Epictetua 
and  others  have  left  us  concei-ning  the  propei-  frame  of  mind 
in  which  man  shouM  approach  death,  repentance  for  past  sin 
ha.«  absolutely  no  p'ace,  nor  do  the  ancients  appear  to  have 
ever  realised  the  purifying  and  spiritualising  influence  it 
exercises  iipon  character.  And  while  the  reality  of  moral 
disease  was  fully  i-ecognised,  while  a  lofty  and  indeed  un- 
attainable ideal  was  continually  proposed,  no  one  doul)ted 
the  essential  excellence  of  human  nature,  and  very  few 
doubted  the  possibihty  of  man  acquiring  by  his  own  will  a 
high  degree  of  virtue.  In  this  last  respect  there  was  a 
wide  difference  between  the  teaching  of  the  Eoman  morahsts 


196  HISTOFvI    OF    EUROPEAN    M0EAL3. 

and  of  the  Greek  poets.*  Homer  continually  represents 
courage,  anger,  and  the  like,  as  the  direct  inspiration  of 
Heaven,  ^schylus,  the  great  poet  of  fatalism,  regards  eveiy 
human  passion  as  but  a  single  link  in  the  great  chain  of 
causes  forged  by  the  inexoi-able  will  of  Zeus.  There  aro, 
indeed,  few  grander  things  in  poetry  than  his  picture  of  the 
many  and  various  motives  that  m-ged  Clytemnestra  to  the 
slaughter  of  Agamemnon — revenge  for  her  murdered  daughter, 
love  for  ^gisthus,  resentment  at  past  breaches  of  conjugal 
duty,  jealousy  of  Cassandra,  all  blending  in  that  fierce  hatred 
that  nerved  her  ann  against  her  husband's  life ;  while  above 
all  this  tumult  of  passion  the  solemn  song  of  Cassandra  pro- 
claimed that  the  deed  was  but  the  decree  of  Heaven,  the 
harvest  of  blood  springing  from  the  seed  of  crime,  the  ac- 
complishment of  the  ancient  curse  that  was  destined  to  cling 
for  ever  to  the  hapless  race  of  Atreus.  Before  the  body  of 
the  murdered  Idng,  and  in  presence  of  the  wildest  paroxysms 
of  human  passion,  the  bystanders  bowed  their  heads,  ex- 
claiming, '  Zeus  has  willed  it — Zeus  the  supreme  Ruler,  the 
God  who  does  all ;  for  what  can  happen  in  the  world  without 
the  will  of  Zeus  r 

But  conceptions  of  this  kind  had  b'ttle  or  no  place  in  the 
philosophy  of  Rome.  The  issue  of  human  enterprises  and  the 
disposition  of  the  gifts  of  fortune  were  recognised  as  under 
the  control  of  Providence ;  but  man  was  master  of  his  own 
feelings,  and  was  capable  of  attaining  such  excellence  that  he 
might  even  challenge  comparison  with  the  gods.  Audacious 
as  such  sentiments  may  now  appear,  they  were  common  to 
most  schools  of  Roman  moralists.  *  We  boast  justly  of  our 
ovf^n  virtue,'  said  the  eclectic  Cicero,  *  which  we  could  not  do 
if  we  derived  it   fiom  the  Deity  and  not  from  oui'selves.' 


This   contrast   is   noticed   and  Legendre  in  his  Traited^rOiinion, 

lar Jely  illustrated    by  M.  Montee  ou  Memoires  pour  servir  a  Ihistoirt 

n    his   interesting   little  work  Le  dc  Vesprii  humain  (Venise,  1736). 
8toii;isine    a    Rome,    and    also    by 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  197 

'All  mortals  judge  that  fortune  is  to  be  received  from  the  gods 
and  wisdom  from  ourselves.' '  The  Epicurean  Horace,  in  his 
noblest  ode,  descril^ed  the  just  man,  confident  in  his  virtue, 
undaunted  amid  the  crash  of  worlds,  and  he  tells  us  to  pray 
only  for  those  things  which  Jupiter  gives  and  takes  away 
'  He  gives  life,  he  gives  wealth ;  an  untroubled  mind  I  secure 
for  myself. '  ^  '  The  calm  of  a  mind  blest  in  the  consciousness 
of  its  vii^tue,'  was  the  expre.ssion  ot  supreme  felicity  the 
Epicureans  had  derived  from  theii*  master.^  Lucretius,  in  a 
magn'ficent  passage,  designates  Epicurus  as  a  god,  and  boasts 
that  the  popular  divinities  dwindle  into  insignificance  before 
him.  Ceres,  he  says,  gave  men  corn,  and  Bacchus  wine,  but 
Epicurus  the  principles  of  virtue.  Hercules  conquered  mon- 
sters, Epicurus  conquered  vice.'*  'Pray,'  said  Juvenal,  'for  a 
healthy  mind  in  a  healthy  body.  Ask  for  a  bi-ave  soul 
unscared  by  death.  .  .  .  But  there  are  things  you  can  give 
yourself.'*  '  Misfortime,  and  losses,  and  calumny,'  said  Seneca, 
'  disappear  before  virtue  as  the  taper  before  the  sun.'  ^  '  In  one 
point  the  sage  is  superior  to  God.  God  owes  it  to  His  nature 
not  to  fear,  but  the  sage  owes  it  to  himself.  Sublime 
condition  !  he  joins  the  frailty  of  a  man  to  the  security  of  a 
god.'^  'Except  for  immortality,'  he  elsewhere  writes,  'the 
sage  is  like  to  God.'  ^    '  It  is  the  characteiistic  of  a  wise  man,' 


'  '  Atoue  hocquidem  omnesmor-  lapius  to  heal  the  body,  and  Plato 

tales  sic  habent  .  .  .  commodita-  to  heal  the  .soul.    (Legendre,  Trnite 

tern  prosperitatemque  vitae  a  diis  del  Opinion,  tome  i.  p.  197.) 

se  habere,  virtutem   ant  em    nemo  *  '  Orandnm  est  ut  sit  mens  sana 

unquam  acceptam  deo  retulit.    Ni-  in  corpore  sano  : 

mirum    recte.     Propter    Wrtutem  Fortem  posce  animum,  mortis  ter- 

enim  jnre  laudnmur  et  in  virtute  rore  carentera.  .  .  . 

recte  gloriamur.     Quod    non    con-  Monstro,  quod  ipse  tibipossis  dare.' 

tingeret  si  id  donum  a  deo.  non  a  Juvenal,  Sat.  x.  356. 

nobis  habereraus.' — Qaqqyo,  De  'Sat.  Marcus       Aurelius       recommen  Is 

Veor.  iii.  36.  prayer,  but  only  that  we  may  \,^ 

^  Ep.  i.  18.  freed  from  QyW.  desires,     (ix.  II.) 

3  Seneca  Ep.  IxA-i.  «  Seneca.  Ep.  Ixvi. 

*  Lucretius,  v.     It  was  a  Greek  ^  Ibid.  Ep.  liii. 

proverb,  that  Apollo  begat  ^scu-  »  Be  Const.  Sap.  viii. 


198  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

added  Epictetus,  '  tliat  lie  looks  for  all  his  good  and  evil  fi-om 
himself.'  -  'As  far  as  his  rational  nature  is  concerned,  ho  in 
in  no  degree  inferior  to  the  gods.*  ^ 

There  were,  however,  other  veins  of  thought  exhibited  in 
stoicism  v/hich  gi-eatly  modified  and  sometimes  positively 
contradicted  this  view  of  the  relations  of  man  to  the  Deity. 
The  theology  of  the  Stoics  was  an  ill-defined,  uncertain,  and 
somewhiit  inconsistent  Pantheism  ;  the  Divioity  was  espe- 
cially worshipped  under  the  two  aspects  of  Providence  and 
moral  goodness,  and  the  soul  of  man  was  regarded  as  '  a 
detached  fragment  of  the  Deity,'  ^  or  as  at  least  pervaded  and 
accompanied  by  a  divine  energy.  '  There  never,'  said  Cicero, 
'  was  a  great  man,  without  an  inspiiation  fi-om  on  high.'  * 
•Nothing,'  said  Seneca,  *  is  closed  to  Go.l.  He  is  present  in 
our  conscience.  He  intervenes  in  our  thoughts.'  ^  '  I  tell 
thee,  Lucilius,'  he  elsewhere  writes, '  a  sacred  spiiit  dwells 
withrQ  us,  the  observer  and  the  guardian  of  our  good  and 
evil  deeds.  .  .  .  No  man  is  good  without  God.  Who,  save  by 
His  assistance,  can  rise  above  fortune  1  He  gives  noble  and 
lofty  counsels.  A  God  (what  God  I  know  not)  dwells  in 
every  good  man.'*^  *  Offer  to  the  God  that  is  in  thee,'  said 
Marcus  Aurelius, '  a  manly  being,  a  citizen,  a  soldier  at  his  post 
ready  to  depart  from  life  as  soon  as  the  trumpet  sounds.'  ^  '  It  is 
sufficient  to  believe  in  the  Genius  who  is  within  us,  and  to 
honour  him  by  a  pure  worship.'  ^ 

Passages  of  this  kind  are  not  unfrequent  in  Stoical 
writings.  More  commonly,  however,  virtue  is  represented 
as  a  human  act  imitating  God.     This  was  the  meaning  of 


^  Ench.  y-lxVu.  ^  Ej).  :kV\.    Tliore  are  some  beau- 

'  Arrian,  i.  12.  liful   sf'i'itiments    of  this    kind    in 

'  Arrian,  ii.  8.     The  same  doc-  Plutarch's  treatise,    Be    Sera   Kti- 

trine  is  strongly  stated  in  Seneca,  ihiuis    Vlndicta.     It  was  a  saying 

Ep.  xcii.  of  Pythagoras,    that   'we   become 

*  Cicero,  De  Fat  Deor.  ii.  66.  betttr  as  \,q  approach  the  gods.' 
'  Eo.  Ixxxiii.    Somewhat  similar  '  Marc.  Aiir.  iii.  5. 

sentiments  are  attrilmted  to  Thales  *  Marcus  Aurelius. 

and  Bion  (Diog.  Lae.ft.). 


THE    TAG  AN    EMPIRE.  19^ 

die  Platonic  maxim,  'follow  God,'  whicli  tlie  Stoics  continually 
repeated,  which  they  developed  in  many  passages  of  the  most 
touching  and  beautiful  piety,  and  to  which  they  added  the  duty 
of  the  most  absolute  and  unquestioning  submission  to  the 
decrees  of  Providence.  Theii*  doctrine  on  this  latter  point 
liarmonised  well  with  theii'  antipathy  to  the  emotional  side 
of  oiu'  being.  'To  weep,  to  complain,  to  groan,  is  to  rebc-l ;'  * 
'to  fear,  to  giieve,  to  be  angry,  is  to  be  a  deserter. '^  'Re 
member  that  you  are  but  an  actor,  acting  whatever  part  the 
Master  has  ordained.  It  may  be  short,  or  it  may  be  long. 
Ef  He  wishes  you  to  represent  a  poor  man,  do  so  heart'Jy  ;  if 
a  cripple,  or  a  magistrate,  or  a  private  man,  in  each  case 
act  yoiu'  part  with  honour.'^  'Never  say  of  anything  that 
you  have  lost  it,  but  that  you  have  restored  it ;  your  wife  jind 
child  die — you  have  restored  them  ;  your  farm  is  taken  from 
you — that  also  is  restored.  It  is  seized  by  an  impious  man. 
What  is  it  to  you  by  whose  instrumentahty  He  who  gave  it 
reclaims  it? '^  '  God  does  not  keep  a  good  man  in  prosperity  ; 
He  tries.  He  strengthens  him,  He  pi-epares  him  for  Himself.'^ 
'  Those  whom  God  approves,  whom  He  loves,  He  hardens, 
He  proves,  He  exercises ;  but  those  whom  He  seems  to 
indulge  and  spare,  He  preserves  for  future  ills.'^  With  a 
beautiful  outburst  of  submissive  gratitude,  Marcus  Aurelius 
exclaims,  '  Some  have  said.  Oh,  dear  city  of  Cecrops  ! — but 
thou,  canst  thou  say,  Oh,  dear  city  of  Jupiter  1  .  .  .  All  that 
is  suitable  to  thee,  oh  world,  is  suitable  to  me.'  ^ 

These  passages,  which  might  be  indefinitely  multiplied, 
serve  to  show  how  successfully  the  Stoics  laboured,  by  dilating 
upon  the  conception  of  Providence,  to  mitigate  the  an-ogance 
which  one  aspect  of  theii*  teaching  unquestionably  displayed. 
B lit  in  this  veiy  attempt  another  danger  was  incuiTed,  upon 


'  Seneca,  Prcpf.  Nat.  Qicest.  iii.  *  Seiioca,  De  Prov.  i. 

•^  iVLarc.  Aur.  x.  25.  -  Ibid.  iv. 

»  Epict,  E7ich.  xvii.  '  Marc.  Aurel.  ii.  2,  S. 

•  Epict.  E7ich.  xi. 


200  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

which  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  moral  systems  of  all  ages 
have  been  wrecked.  A  doctrine  which  thus  enjoins  absolute 
submission  to  the  decrees  of  Providence,^  yhich  proscribes 
the  affections,  and  which  represents  its  disciples  as  altogethei* 
independent  of  surrounding  circumstances,  would  in  most 
conditions  of  society  have  led  necessarily  to  quietism,  and 
proved  absolutely  incompatible  with  active  virtue.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  in  the  ancient  civilisations  the  idea  of  vui;ue 
had  from  the  earliest  times  been  so  indissolubly  connected 
with  that  of  political  activity  that  the  danger  was  for  a  long 
period  altogether  avoided.  The  State  occupied  in  antiquity 
a  prominence  in  the  thoughts  of  men  which  it  never  has 
attained  in  modem  times.  The  influence  of  patriotism 
thrilled  through  eveiy  fibre  of  moral  and  intellectual  life. 
The  most  profound  philosophers,  the  purest  moralists,  the 
most  sublime  poets,  had  been  soldiers  or  statesmen.  Hence 
arose  the  excessive  predominance  occasionally  accorded  to 
civic  \di*tues  in  ancient  systems  of  ethics,  and  also  not  a  few 
of  their  most  revolting  paradoxes.  Plato  advocated  com- 
munity of  wives  mainly  on  the  ground  that  the  children 
produced  would  be  attached  more  exclusively  to  their  country.^ 
Aristotle  may  be  almost  said  to  have  made  the  difference 
between  Greek  and  barbarian  the  basis  of  his  moral  code. 


'  The  language   in   which  the  illustration  of  this  mode  of  thought 

Stoics    sometimes    spoke    of    the  in  a  speech  of  Archytas  of  Taren- 

inexorable     determination    of    all  tiim    on    the   evils   of  sensuality, 

things  by  Providence  would  appear  which  Cicero  has  preserved.     He 

lo^iciilly  inconsistent  with  fr^-e  will,  consitlers  the  greatest  of  these  evils 

In  fact,  however,    the    Stoics    as-  to  be  that  the  vice  predisposes  men 

serted*the   latter  doctrine  in  un-  to  unpatriotic  acts.    '  Nullam  capi- 

equivocal  language,   and   in    their  taliorem     pestem    quam     corporis 

practical  ethics  even  exaggerated  voluptatem,    hominil^us   a    natura 

its   power.     Au'.us   Gellius   {Noct.     datam Hinc  patriae  prodi- 

Att.  vi.  2)  ha'^  preserved  a  passage  tiones,  hinc  rerumpublicamm  ever- 

in  which    Chrysippus  exerted  his  siones,  hinc  cum  hostibus  clandet- 

subtlety    in    reconciling   the   two  tina  colloquia  nasci,'  etc. — Cicero, 

things.     See,  too,  Arrian,  i.  17.  De  Scnect.  xii. 

2  We  have  an  extremely  curious 


TKE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  201 

rije  Spai"tan  legislation  was  continually  extolled  as  an  ideal, 
as  the  Venetian  constitution  by  the  writers  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  On  the  other  hand,  the  contact  of  the  spheres  of 
S])eculation  and  of  political  activity  exercised  in  one  re- 
spect a  very  beneficial  influence  upon  ancient  philosoi  ^li^'^- 
Patriotism  almost  always  occupied  a  prominence  in  the  scale 
of  duties,  which  forms  a  striking  contrast  to  the  neglect  or 
discredit  into  which  it  has  fixllen  among  modern  teachers. 
We  do,  indeed,  read  of  an  Anaxagoras  pointing  to  heaven  as 
to  his  true  country,  and  pronouncing  exile  to  be  no  evil,  as 
the  descent  to  the  infernal  regions  is  the  same  from  every 
land  ;  ^  but  such  sentiments,  though  not  unknown  among  the 
Epicureans  and  the  Cynics,  were  diametrically  opposed  to 
the  prevailing  tone.  Patriotism  was  represented  as  a  moral 
duty,  and  a  duty  of  the  highest  order.  Cicero  only  echoed 
the  common  opinion  of  antiquity  in  that  noble  passage, 
in  which  he  asserts  that  the  love  we  owe  ovir  country  is 
even  holier  and  more  profound  than  that  we  owe  our  nearest 
kinsman,  and  that  he  can  have  no  claim  to  the  title  of  a  good 
man  who  even  hesitates  to  die  in  its  behalf.  ^ 

A  necessary  consequence  of  this  prominence  of  patriotism 
was  the  practical  character  of  most  ancient  ethics.  We  find, 
indeed,  moralists  often  exhorting  men  to  moderate  theii*  am- 
bition, consoling  them  under  political  adversity,  and  urging 
that  there  are  some  circumstances  under  which  an  upright 
man  should  for  a  time  withdi-aw  from  public  afTaii's ;  ^  but 
the  general  duty  of  taking  part  in  political  life  was  emphati- 
cally asserted,  and  the  vanity  of  the  quietist  theory  of  life 
not  only  maintained,  but  even  somewhat  exaggerated.     Thus 


Diog.  Laert.  Anax.  '  See  Seneca,  Consol.  aclHeiviam 

•  '  Carisunt  parentes,  cari  liberi,  and  De  Olio  Sajmn. ;  and  Plutarch, 

propinqui,  familiares  ;    sed  omnes  BcExilio.     The  first  of  these  works 

omnium  caritates  patria  una  com-  is  the  basis   of   one    of   the    most 

plexa    est;    pro    qua    quis    bonus  lieautiful  compositions  in  the  Eng- 

dubitet  mortem  oppetore  pi   ei  sit  lish  langniage,  Bolingbroke's  i?f/?tC' 

profu'urus?  '—De  Offic.  i.  17.  tiuiu  on  Exile. 

15 


202  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

Cicero  declared  that  'all  viiiiue  is  in  action.'^  Tie  yoiinger 
Pliiiy  mentions  that  he  once  lamented  to  the  Stoic  Euphrates 
the  small  place  which  his  official  duties  left  for  philosophical 
puipuits;  but  Euphrat?s  answered  that  the  discharge  of 
public  affairs  and  the  administration  of  justice  formed  a  pai*t, 
and  the  most  important  part,  of  philosophy,  for  he  who  is  so 
engaged  is  but  practising  the  precepts  of  the  schools.  ^  It 
was  a  fundamental  maxim  of  the  Stoics  that  humanity  is  a 
body  in  which  each  limb  should  act  solely  and  continually 
with  a  view  to  the  interests  of  the  whole.  Marcus  Aiu-elius, 
the  purest  mind  of  the  sect,  was  for  nineteen  years  the  active 
ruler  of  the  civilised  globe.  Thrasea,  Helvidius,  Cornutus, 
and  a  crowd  of  others  who  had  adopted  Stoicism  as  a  religion, 
lived,  and  in  many  cases  died,  in  obedience  to  its  precepts, 
struggling  for  the  Liberties  of  theii*  country  iji  the  darkest 
hours  of  tyi-anny. 

Men  who  had  formed  such  high  conceptions  of  duty,  who 
had  bridled  so  completely  the  tumult  of  passion,  and  whose 
lives  were  spent  in  a  calm  sense  of  virtue  am^  uf  dignity,  were 
little  likely  to  be  assailed  by  the  superstitious  fears  that  are 
the  nightmare  of  weaker  men.  The  preparation  for  death 
was  deemed  one  of  the  chief  ends  of  philosophy.  ^  The 
thought  of  a  coming  change  assisted  the  mind  in  detaching 
itself  from  the  gifts  of  fortune,  and  the  extinction  of  all 
superstitious  terrors  completed  the  type  of  self-reliant  majesty 
which  Stoicism  had  chosen  for  its  ideal.  But  while  it  is 
cei-tnin  that  no  philosophers  expatiated  upon  death  with  a 
grander  eloquence,  or  met  it  with  a  more  placid  courage,  it 
can  hardly  be  denied  that  their  constant  disquisitions  forced 
it  into  an  unhealthy  prominence,  and  somewhat  discoloured 
their  whole  view  of  life.  '  The  Stoics,'  as  Bacon  has  said, 
'  bestowed  too  much  cost  on  death,  and  by  their  pi-eparationa 


'  De  Officiis.  vita,   ut    ait    idem,    commentatio 

"^  Kjnst.  i.  10.  mortis  est.' — Cicero,   Tusc.  i.    30. 

•♦Tola     e^iim    philosophorum     ad  Jin. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  203 

made  it  more  fearful.'^  There  is  a  profound  wisdom  in  the 
maxims  of  Spiiioza,  that  '  the  proper  study  of  a  wise  man  is 
aot  how  to  die,  but  how  to  live,'  and  that  'there  is  no  subject 
on  which  the  sage  will  think  less  than  death.' ^  A  life  of 
active  duty  is  the  best  preparation  for  the  end,  and  so  large 
a  part  of  the  evil  of  death  lies  'in  its  anticipation,  that  an 
attempt  to  dejjrive  it  of  its  terrors  by  constant  meditation 
almost  necessarily  defeats  its  object,  \v^hi]e  at  the  same  time 
it  forms  an  unnaturally  tense,  feverish,  and  tragical  character, 
annihilates  the  ambition  and  enthusiasm  that  are  essenti«,l  to 
human  progress,  and  not  unfrequently  casts  a  chill  and  a 
deadness  over  the  affections. 

Among  the  many  half-pagan  legends  that  were  connected 
with  Ireland  during  the  ndddle  ages,  one  of  the  most  beautifiJ 
is  that  of  the  islands  of  life  and  of  death.  In  a  certain  lake 
in  Munster  it  is  said  there  were  two  islands ;  into  the  fii'sb 
death  could  never  enter,  but  age  and  sickness,  and  the  weari- 
ness of  life,  and  the  paroxysms  of  feaiful  suffering  were  all 
known  there,  and  they  did  their  work  till  the  inhabitants, 
tired  of  their  immortality,  learned  to  look  upon  the  opposite 
island  as  upon  a  haven  of  repose  :  they  launched  their  barks 
upon  the  gloomy  waters;  they  touched  its  shore  and  they 
were  at  rest.^ 

This  legend,  which  is  far  more  akin  to  the  spirit  of 
paganism  than  to  that  of  Christianity,  and  is  in  fact  only 
another  form  of  the  myth  of  Tithonus,  represents  with  great 
fidelity  the  aspect  in  which  death  was  regarded  by  the  ex- 
ponents of  Stoicism.  Thei'e  was  mucli  difference  of  opinion 
and  of  certitude  in  the  judgments  of  the  ancient  philosophers 


'  Essay  on  Death.  Bello  Goth.  iv.  20)  says  that  it  is 

-  Spinoza,  Ethics,  iv.  67-  impossible  for  men  to  live  in  the 

'  Camden.     Montalt-mbert   no-  -o'est  of  Britain,  and  that  the  dis- 

tjces  a  similar  legend  as  existing  trict  is  believed  to  be  inhab' ted  bj 

m  Brittany  (/yfs  Mo'mrs  d'Occidevt,  the  souls  of  the  dead. 

tome  ii.  p.  287)-      Procopius  {De 


204  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

concerning  the  future  destinies  of  the  soul,  but  they  were 
unanimous  in  regarding  death  simply  as  a  natural  rest,  and 
in  attributing  the  terrors  that  were  connected  with  it  to  a 
diseased  imagination.  Death,  they  said,  is  the  only  evil  that 
does  not  afflict  us  when  pj^esent.  While  we  are,  death  is  not, 
when  death  has  come  we  are  not.  It  is  a  false  belief  that  it 
only  follows,  it  also  precedes,  life.  It  is  to  be  as  we  were 
before  we  were  born.  The  candle  which  has  been  extin- 
guished is  in  the  same  condition  as  before  it  was  lit,  and  the 
dead  man  as  the  man  unborn.  Death  is  the  end  of  all  sorrow. 
It  either  secures  happiness  or  ends  suffering.  It  frees  the 
slave  from  his  cruel  master,  opens  the  prison  door,  calms  the 
qualms  of  pain,  closes  the  struggles  of  poverty.  It  is  the  last 
and  best  boon  of  nature,  for  it  frees  man  from  all  his  cares. 
It  is  at  worst  but  the  close  of  a  banquet  we  have  enjoyed. 
Whether  it  be  desired  or  whether  it  be  shunned,  it  is  no 
curse  and  no  evil,  but  simply  the  resolution  of  our  being  into 
its  primitive  elements,  the  law  of  our  nature  to  which  it  is 
our  duty  cheerfully  to  conform. 

Such  were  the  leading  topics  that  wei-e  employed  in  that 
beautiful  literature  of  '  Consolations,'  which  the  academic 
Grantor  is  said  to  have  originated,  and  which  occupies  so 
large  a  place  in  the  writings  of  Cicero,  Plutarch,  and  the 
Stoics.  Cicero,  like  all  the  school  of  Plato,  added  to  these 
motives  a  very  fii^m  and  constant  reference  to  the  immortality 
of  the  soul.  Plutarch  held  the  same  doctrine  with  equal  as- 
surance, but  he  gave  it  a  much  less  conspicuous  position  in 
his  '  Consolations/  and  he  based  it  not  upon  philosophical 
gi'ounds,  but  upon  the  testimonies  of  the  oracles,  and  upon 
the  mysteries  of  Bg^chus.^  Among  the  Stoics  the  doctrine 
shone  with  a  faint  and  uncertain  light,  and  was  seldom  or 
never  adopted  as  a  motive.  But  that  which  is  most  impres- 
sive to  a  student  who  turns  from  the  religious  literature  of 


^  In  his  De  Sera  Numinis  Vindicta  and  his  Consolatioad  Uxorem. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  205 

Christianity  to  the  pagan  philosophies,  is  the  complete 
absence  in  the  latter  of  all  notion  concerning  the  penal  cha- 
racter of  death.  Death,  according  to  Socrates,^  either 
extinguishes  life  or  emancipates  it  fiom  the  thraldom  of  the 
body.  Even  in  the  first  case  it  is  a  blessing,  in  the  last  it  ib 
the  greatest  of  boons.  *  Accustom  yourself,'  said  Epicui  up, 
*  to  the  thought  that  death  is  indifferent ;  for  all  good  and  all 
evil  consist  in  feeling,  and  what  is  death  but  the  privation  of 
feeliag?'^  '  Souls  either  remain  after  death,'  said  Cicero,  *or 
they  perish  in  death.  If  they  remain  they  are  happy ;  if  they 
perish  they  are  not  wretched.'^  Seneca,  consoling  Polybius 
concerning  the  death  of  his  brother,  exhorts  his  friend  to 
think,  '  if  the  dead  have  any  sensations,  then  my  brother,  let 
loose  as  it  were  from  a  lifelong  prison,  and  at  last  enjoying 
his  liberty,  looks  dow^n  from  a  loftier  height  on  the  wonders 
of  nature  and  on  all  the  deeds  of  men,  and  sees  more  clearly 
those  divine  things  wdiich  he  had  so  long  sought  in  vain  to 
understand.  But  why  should  I  be  afflicted  for  one  who  is 
either  happy  or  is  nothing  ?  To  lament  the  fate  of  one  who 
is  happy  is  envy ;  to  lament  the  fate  of  a  nonentity  is 
madness.''* 

But  w^hile  the  Greek  and  Boman  philosophers  were  on 
this  point  unanimous,  there  was  a  strong  opposing  current  in 
the  popular  mind.  The  Greek  word  for  superstition  signifies 
literally,  fear  of  gods  or  daemons,  and  the  philosophers 
sometimes  represent  the  vulgar  as  shuddering  at  the  thought 
of  death,  tha'ough  dread  of  certain  endless  sufierings  to  which 
it  would  lead  them.  The  Greek  mythology  contains  many 
fables  on  the  subject.     The  early  Greek  vases  occasionally 

'  In  the  Phcedo,  passim.     See,  that    remained    of    the   works   of 

too,  Marc,  ^urelius,  ii.  12.  Epicurus,  till  the  recent  discovery 

2  See  a  very  striking  letter  of  of  one  of  his  treatises  at  Hercula* 

Epicurus  quoted  by  Diogenes  Laert.  neum. 
in    his   life   of    that    philosopher.  ^  Tusc.  Quc^st.  i. 

Except  a  few  sentences,  quoted  by  *  Consol.  ad  Polyh.  xscvii. 

other  writers,  these  letters  were  all 


206  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

represent  scenes  of  infernal  torments,  not  unlike  those  of  the 
mediseva]  frescoes.^  Ttie  rapture  with  which  Epicureanism 
was  received,  as  liberating  the  human  mind  from  the  thral- 
dom of  superstitious  terrors,  shows  how  galling  must  have 
been  the  yoke.  In  the  j^oem  of  Lucretius,  in  occasional  pas- 
sages of  Cicero  and  other  Latin  moralists,  above  all,  in  the 
treatise  of  Plutarch  '  On  Superstition,'  we  may  trace  the  deep 
impression  these  terrors  had  made  upon  the  populace,  even 
during  the  later  period  of  the  Eepublic,  and  during  the 
Empire.  To  destroy  them  was  represented  as  the  highest 
function  of  philosophy.  Plutarch  denounced  them  as  the 
worst  calumny  against  the  Deity,  as  more  pernicious  than 
atheism,  as  the  evil  consequences  of  immoral  fables,  and  he 
gladly  turned  to  other  legends  which  taught  a  different 
lesson.  Thus  it  was  related  that  when,  during  a  certain  fes- 
tival at  Argos,  the  horses  that  were  to  draw  the  statue  of 
Juno  to  the  temp^.e  were  detained,  the  sons  of  the  priestess 
yoked  themselves  to  the  car,  and  their  mother,  admiring 
their  piety,  prayed  the  goddess  to  reward  them  with  what- 
ever boon  was  the  best  for  man.  Her  praj^er  was  answered 
— they  sank  asleep  and  died.^  In  like  manner  the  architects 
of  the  great  temple  of  Apollo  at  Delphi,  prayed  the  god  to 
select  that  reward  which  was  best.  The  oracle  told  them  in 
reply  to  spend  seven  days  in  rejoicing,  and  on  the  following 
night  their  rewaid  would  come.  They  too  died  in  sleep. ^  The 
swan  was  consecrated  to  Apollo  because  its  dying  song  was 
believed  to  spiing  from  a  prophetic  impulse.''  The  Spanish 
Celts  raised  temples,  and  sang  hymns  of  praise  to  death.  ^  No 


'  Maury,  Hist,  des  Bcliglons  cJe  the  natural  form  of  devotion  can 

la  Grece  aniiqiie,  torn.  i.  ]'p.  582-  never  haA-e  had  any  very  alarming 

588.    M.  Ravaisson,  in  his  Memoir  character. 

on  Stoicism  {^Acad.  des  Inscriptions  ^  Plutarch,  Ad  Apollonium. 

et  Belles-lettres,   torn,  xxi.)  has  en-  '  Ibid, 

larged  on  the  terrorism  of  paganism,  ^  Cie.  Tusc.  Quasi.  \. 

biU  has,  I  think,  exaggerated  it.  *  Philost.  Apoll.  of  Tyan.  v.  4. 

Religious  which  selected  games  as  Hence   their  passion   for   suicide, 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIKE.  207 

philosopher  of  antiquity  ever  questioned  tliat  a  gooil  man,  re- 
viewing his  life,  might  look  upon  it  without  shame  and  even 
with  positive  comj)lacency,  or  that  the  reverence  with  which 
men  regard  heroic  deaths  is  a  foretaste  of  the  sentence  of  the 
Creator.  To  this  confidence  may  be  traced  the  tranquil 
courage,  the  complete  absence  of  all  remorse,  so  conspicuous 
in  the  closing  hours  of  Socrates,  and  of  many  other  of  the 
sages  of  antiquity.  There  is  no  fact  in  religious  history 
more  startling  than  the  radical  change  that  has  in  this 
respect  passed  over  the  character  of  devotion.  It  is  said  of 
Chilon,  one  of  the  seven  sages  of  Greece,  that  at  the  close  of 
his  career  he  gathered  his  disciples  around  him,  and  con- 
gratulated himse'f  that  in  a  long  life  he  could  recall  but  a 
sing'c  act  that  saddened  his  dying  hour.  It  was  that,  in  a 
perp'exing  dilemma,  he  had  allowed  his  love  of  a  friend  in 
some  slight  degree  to  obscure  his  sense  of  justice.^  The 
writings  of  Cicero  in  his  old  age  are  full  of  passionate  aspi- 
rations to  a  future  world,  unclouded  by  one  regret  or  by  one 
fear.  Seneca  died  tranquilly,  bequeathing  to  his  friends  '  the 
most  pi-ecious  of  his  possessions,  the  image  of  his  life.'^  Titus 
on  his  deathbed  declared  that  he  could  remember  only  a  sin- 
gle act  with  which  to  reproach  himself.^  On  the  last  night 
in  which  Antoninus  Pius  lived,  the  tribune  came  to  ask*  for 
the  pass- word  of  the  night.  The  dying  emperor  gave  him 
'  sequanimitas.''  Julian,  the  last  great  representative  of  his 
expuing  creed,  caught  up  the  same  majestic  strain.     Amid 

■which  Silius  Italicus  commemo-  Valerius  Maxiimis  (ii.  vi,  ,^  12) 
rates  in  lines  "which  I  think  very  speaks  of  Celts  who  celebratncl  the 
beautiful : —  birth  of  men  with  lamentation,  and 

'  Prodiga  gens  animse  et  properare     ^^'^';  '^f^^^']^^  J°^,   ,      .    , 

facilliml  mortem ;  ^^^'l^«  GeWms  Nodes  i   3. 

Namque  ubi  trar,scendit  florentes  ,  Tacitus,  A>inales  xx.  62- 

viribusannos  'bneton    Tilus   10.   _ 

Impatiens     sevi,    spernit     novisse  *  Cai^itohnns,  Anto7ii7ius. 

senectam 
Et   fati  mount  in  dextra  est.' — i. 

225-228. 


208  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

the  curses  of  angry  priests,  and  tlie  impending  ruin  of  tlie 
cause  he  loved,  he  calmly  died  in  the  consciousness  of  his 
ATTtue;  and  his  death,  which  is  among  the  most  fearless 
that  antiquity  records,  was  the  last  protest  of  philosophic 
paganism  against  the  new  doctrine  that  had  arisen.^ 

It  is  customary  with  some  writers,  when  exhibiting  the 
many  points  in  which  the  ancient  philosophers  anticipated 
Christian  ethics,  to  represent  Christianity  as  if  it  were  merely 
a  development  or  authoritative  confirmation  of  the  highest 
tcachbig  of  paganism,  or  as  if  the  additions  were  at  least  of 
such  a  nature  that  there  is  but  little  doubt  that  the  best  and 
purest  spirits  of  the  pagan  world,  had  they  known  them, 
would  have  gladly  welcomed  them.  But  this  conception, 
which  contains  a  large  amount  of  truth  if  applied  to  the 
teaching  of  many  Protestants,  is  either  grossly  exaggerated  or 
absolutely  false  if  applied  to  that  of  the  patristic  period  or  of 
mediseval  Catholicism,  On  the  very  subject  which  the  phi- 
losophers deemed  the  most  important  theii'  unanimous 
conclusion  was  the  extreme  antithesis  of  the  teaching  of 
Catholicism.  The  philosophers  taught  that  death  is  *  a  law 
and  not  a  punishment ;  '^  the  fathers  taught  that  it  is  a  penal 
infliction  introduced  into  the  world  on  account  of  the  sin  of 
Adam,  which  was  also  the  cause  of  the  appearance  of  all 
noxious  plants,  of  all  convulsions  in  the  material  globe,  and, 
as  was  sometimes  assei-ted,  even  of  a  diminution  of  the  light  of 
the  sun.  The  first  taught  that  death  was  the  end  of  sufi(3ring; 
they   ridiculed   as   the   extreme    of    folly   the   notion  that 


*  See  the  beautiful  account  of  "^  'Lex  non  poena  mors'  was  a 

his  last  hours  given  by  Ammianus  farourite   saying   among    the   an- 

Marcellinus    and    reproduced    by  cients.     On   the  other  hand,   Ter- 

Gibbon.     There  are  some  remarl^  tullian  very  distinctly  enunciated 

well  worth  reading  about  the  death  the    patristic    view,     'Qui    autera 

of  Julian,  and  the  state  of  thought  primordia  hominis  novimus,  auden- 

that  rendered  such  a  death  possible,  ter  determinamus  mortem  non  ex 

in   Dr.    Newman's    Discourses    on  latura   secutam    hominera  sed  ex 

University  Education,  lect.  ix.  culpa.' — De  Anima,  52. 


THE   PAGAN   EMPIRE.  209 

pliysical  evils  could  await  those  whose  bodies  had  been 
i-educed  to  ashes,  and  they  dwelt  with  emphatic  eloquence 
upon  the  approaching,  and,  as  they  believed,  final  extinction 
of  superstitious  terrors.  The  second  taught  that  death  to  the 
vast  ma,jority  of  the  human  race  is  but  the  beginning  of  end- 
less and  excruciating  toi-tiu'es — tortures  before  which  the 
most  ghastly  of  terrestrial  sufierings  dwindle  into  Lnsig- 
mficance — tortures  which  no  courage  could  defy — which  none 
but  an  immortal  being  could  endure.  The  fii'st  represented 
man  as  pui-e  and  innocent  until  his  will  had  sinned;  the 
second  represented  him  as  under  a  sentence  of  condemnation 
at  the  very  moment  of  his  birth.  '  No  funeral  sacrifices,' 
said  a  great  writer  of  the  first  school,  '  are  offered  for  children 
who  die  at  an  early  age,  and  none  of  the  ceremonies  practised 
at  the  funerals  of  adults  are  performed  at  their  tombs,  for  it  is 
believed  that  infants  have  no  hold  upon  earth  or  upon  terres- 
trial affections.  .  .  .  The  law  forbids  us  to  honour  them 
because  it  is  irreligious  to  lament  for  those  pure  souls  who 
have  passed  into  a  better  life  and  a  happier  dwelling-place.'  ^ 
'  Whosoever  shall  tell  us,'  said  a  distinguished  exponent  of 
the  patristic  theology,  '  that  infants  shall  be  quickened  in 
Christ  who  die  Avithout  pai-taking  in  His  Sacrament,  does 
both  contradict  the  Apostle's  teaching  and  condemn  the 
who'e  Church.  .  .  .  And  he  that  is  not  quickened  in  Christ 
must  remain  in  that  condemnation  of  wliich  the  Apostle 
speaks,  "  by  one  man's  offence  condemnation  came  upon  all 
men  to  condemnation."  To  which  condemnation  infants  are 
born  liable  as  all  the  Church  believes. '^  The  one  school 
endeavoured  to  plant  its  foundations  in  the  moral  natuie  of 
mankind,  by  proclaiming  that  man  can  become  acceptable  to 
the  Deity  by  his  own  virtue,  and  by  this  alone,  that  all  sacri- 
fices, rites,  and  forms  are  indifferent,  and  that  the  true 
\sorship   of  God   is   the  recognition  and   imitation   of  His 


Plutarch,  Ad   Uxorem.  ^  ^t.  Augustine,  E])ist.  166 


210  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS, 

goodness.  Accorcliag  to  the  other  school,  the  most  heroic  efforts 
of  human  virtue  are  insufficient  to  avert  a  sentence  of  eternal 
condemnation,  imless  united  wdth  an  implicit  belief  in  the 
teachings  of  the  Church ,  and  a  due  observance  of  the  rites  it 
enjoins.  By  the  philosophers  the  ascription  of  anger  and 
vengeance  to  the  Deity,  and  the  apprehension  of  future 
torture  at  His  hands,  were  iuianimous;y  repudiated ;  ^  by 
the  priests  the  opposite  opinion  was  deemed  equally  cen- 
surable. ^ 

These  are  fundamental  points  of  difference,  for  they  relate 
to  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  ancient  philosophy.  The 
main  object  of  the  pagan  philosophers  was  to  dispel  the  tei  I'ors 
the  imagination  had  cast  around  death,  and  by  destroying 
this  last  cause  of  fear  to  secm-e  the  liberty  of  man.  The 
main  object  of  the  Catholic  priests  has  been  to  make  death  in 
itself  as  revolting  and  appalling  as  possible,  and  by  represent- 
ing escape  from  its  teiTors  as  hopeless,  except  by  complete 
subjection  to  theii*  rule,  to  convert  it  into  an  instrument  of 
government.  By  multiplying  the  dancing  or  warning  ske^.e- 
tons,  and  other  sepulchral  images  representing  the  loathsome- 
ness of  death  without  its  repose  ;  by  substituting  inhumation 
for  inci'emation,  and  concentrating  the  imagination  on  the 
ghastliaess  of  decay ;  above  all,  1^y  peopling  the  unseen  world 
with  demon  phantoms  and  with  excruciating  tortui-es,  the 
Catholic  Church  succeeded  in  making  death  in  itself  unspeak- 
ably terrible,  and  in  thus  preparing  men  for  the  consolations 
it  could  offer.     Its  legends,  its  ceremonies,  its  art,^  its  dog- 


'  '  At  hoc  quidem  commune  "est  philosophic  notion    in    Lactantina, 

omnium  philosophorum.  non  eorum  De  Ira  Dei. 

niodo  qui  deura  nihil  habere  ipsum  ^  '  Revehition,'  as  Lessing  ob- 

negotii    dicuut,    et   niliil    exhibere  serves  in  his  essay  on  this  suliject, 

alteri  ;  sed   eorum  etiam,  qui  deum  '  has  made  Peath  the  "king  of  ter- 

Bemper    agere     aliquid    et    moliri  rors."   the  awful  offspring   of  sin 

volunr,  numijuam   nee  irasci  deum  and  the  dread  way  to  its  punish- 

nec  nocere.' — Cio.  De  Offic.  iii.  28.  ment ;  though  to  tlie  imaginarion 

*  See    the     refutation    of    the  of    the    ancient    heathen     world 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  211 

matic  teaclimg,  call  conspired  to  this  end,  and  tlie  history  of 
its  miracles  is  a  striking  evidence  of  its  success.  The  great 
majority  of  superstitions  have  ever  clustered  around  two 
centres — the  fear  of  death  ar-d  the  helief  that  every  pheno- 
menon of  life  is  the  result  of  a  special  spiritual  interposition. 
Among  the  ancients  they  were  usually  of  the  latter  kind. 
Auguries,  pi-ophecies,  interventions  in  war,  prodigies  avenging 
the  neglect  of  some  rite  or  marking  some  epoch  in  the  for- 
tunes of  a  nation  or  of  a  ruler,  are  the  forms  they  usually 
assumed.  In  the  middle  ages,  although  these  were  very 
common,  the  most  conspicuous  superstitions  took  the  form  of 
visions  of  purgatory  or  hell,  conflicts  with  visible  demons, 
or  Satanic  miracles.  liike  those  mothers  who  govern  theii* 
children  by  persuading  them  that  the  dark  is  crowded  with 
spectres  that  will  seize  the  disobedient,  and  who  often  succeed 
in  creating  an  association  of  ideas  which  the  adult  man  is 
unable  altogether  to  dissolve,  the  Catholic  priests  resolved  to 
base  theii'  power  upon  the  nerves  ;  and  as  they  long  exercised 
an  absolute  control  over  education,  litei*ature,  and  art,  they 
succeeded  in  completely  reversing  the  teaching  of  ancient 
philosophy,  and  in  making  the  terrors  of  death  for  centuries 
the  nightmare  of  the  imagination. 

There  is,  indeed,  another  side  to  the  picture.  The  vague 
uncertainty  with  which  the  best  pagans  regarded  death  passed 
away  before  the  teaching  of  the  Church,  and  it  was  often 
replaced  by  a  rapture  of  hope,  which,  however,  the  doctrine 
of  purgatory  contributed  at  a  later  period  largely  to  quell. 
But,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  justice  of  the  Catholic 
conception  of  death  or  of  its  influence  upon  human  happiness, 
it  is  plain  that  it  is  radically  different  from  that  of  the  pagan 
philosophers.  That  man  is  not  only  an  imperfect  but  a  fallen 
l)eing,  and   that  death  is  the  penal   consequence  of  his  sin. 


Greek  or  Etrurian,  he  vras  a  torch  held  downwards.'— Cole- 
youthful  genins—  the  twin  brother  ridge's  Blographia  Litferaria,  oajv 
of  Sleep,   or  a  lusty  boy    with    a     xxii.,  note  by  Sara  Coleridge. 


212  HISTOUT    OF    EUROPEAN    MOliALS. 

was  a  doctrine  profoundly  new  to  mankind,  and  it  has 
exercised  an  influence  of  the  most  serious  character  upon  the 
moral  history  of  the  world. 

The  wide  divergence  of  the  classical  fi-om  the  Catholic 
conception  of  death  appears  very  plainly  in  the  attitude  which 
each  system  adopted  towards  suicide.  This  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  striking  of  all  the  points  of  contrast  between  the  teach- 
ing of  antiquity,  and  especially  of  the  lioman  Stoics,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  that  of  almost  all  modern  moralists  on  the  oth^^r. 
It  is  indeed  true  that  the  ancients  were  by  no  means  unani- 
mous in  theu'  approval  of  the  act.  Pythagoras,  to  whom  so 
many  of  the  wisest  sayings  of  antiquity  are  ascribed,  is  si'd 
to  have  forbidden  men  *  to  depart  from  then-  guard  or  station 
in  life  without  the  order  of  their  commander,  that  is,  of  God.'^ 
Plato  adopted  similar  language,  though  he  permitted  suicide 
when  the  law  required  it,  and  also  when  men  had  been  struck 
down  by  intolerable  calamity,  or  had  sunk  to  the  lowest 
depths  of  poverty.  2  Aristotle  condemned  it  on  civic  grounds, 
as  being  an  injury  to  the  State.^  The  roll  of  Greek  suicides 
is  not  long,  though  it  contains  some  illustrious  names,  among 
othei-s  those  of  Zeno  and  Cleanthes.^  In  Rome,  too,  where 
suicide  acquired  a  gi-eat^r  prominence,  its  la^\^lllnes3  was  by 
no  means  accepted  as  an  axiom,  and  the  story  of  Kegulus, 


'  'Vetat     Pythagoras     injussu  other  liand,  Cicero  mentions  a  cer- 

imperatoris,  id  est  Dei,  de  praesidio  tain    Cleombrotus,    who    was    so 

et  staticjne  vitfe  decedere.' — Cic.  De  fascinated    by    the   proof  of  the 

Senec.  xx.     If  we  believe  the  very  immortahty   of    the   soul    in    the 

untrustworthy   evidence    of  Diog.  Vhcedon    that    he    forthwith    ca.st 

Laertius  (P////i<7_^'^?'rfs:  the  philoso-  himself  into  the    sea.      Cato,    aa 

pher  himself  committed  suicide  by  is   well   known,    chose    this   work 

starvation.  to  study,   the  night  he  committed 

2  See  his  Laws,  lib.  ix.     In  his  suicide. 

Phadon,  however,  Plato  went  fur-  ^  Arist.  Ethic,  v. 

ther,    and  condemned  all  suicide.  ■•  See  a  list  of  these  in  Lact.-in- 

Libanius  says  {Dc   Vita  Sua)  that  tins'  List.   Div.  iii.   18.     Many  ot 

the  arguments  of  the  Phcedon  pre-  these  instances  rest  on  very  doub^ 

vented  him  from  committing  suicide  ful  evidence. 
aftor  the  death  of  Julian.     On  the 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  213 

whether  it  be  a  history  or  a  legend,  shows  that  the  patient 
endurance  of  suffering  was  once  the  supreme  ideal.  ^  Virgil 
painted  in  gloomy  colours  the  condition  of  suicides  in  the 
future  world. 2  Cicero  strongly  asserted  the  doctrine  of 
Pythagoras,  though  he  praised  the  suicide  of  Cato.^  Apuleius, 
expounding  the  philosoph}-  of  Plato,  taught  that '  the  wise  man 
never  throws  off  his  body  except  by  the  will  of  God.'  '^  Ca:sar, 
Ovid,  and  others  urged  that  in  extreme  distress  it  is  easy  to 
despise  life,  and  that  true  courage  is  shown  in  enduring  it.^ 
Among  the  Stoics  themselves,  the  belief  that  no  man  may 
shrink  from  a  duty  co-existed  with  the  belief  that  eA^ery  man 
has  a  right  to  dispose  of  his  own  life.  Seneca,  who  emphati- 
cally advocated  suicide,  admits  that  there  were  some  who 
deemed  it  wrong,  and  he  himself  attempted  to  moderate  what 
he  termed  '  the  passion  for  suicide ',  that  had  arisen  among  his 
disciples.^  Marcus  Aurelius  wavers  a  little  on  the  subject, 
sometimes  asserting  the  right  of  every  man  to  leave  life  when 


'  Adam  Smith's    Moral   Senti-  '  Eebus  in  adversis  focile  est  con- 

ments,  part  vii.  §  2.  temnere  vitam, 

Fortiter   ille   facit    qui    miser 

2  '  Proxima  deinde  tenent  mcesti  esse  potest.' 

loca  qui  sibi  lethum  See,  too,  Martial,  xi.  56. 

Insontes  peperere  manu,  lucemque  «  Especially  E^y.  xxiv.     Seneca 

ps^o^i  desires  that  men  should  not  commit 

Projeeere  auimas.     Quam  vellent  suicide  unth  panic  or  trepidation. 

sethere  in  alto  He  says  that  those  condemned  to 

Nunc  et  pauperiem  et  duros  per-  death  should  await  tlieir  execution, 

ferre  labores.'— ^^/^e/fZ,  vi  434  -  for  '  it  is  a  folly  to  did  through  fear 

■^^7 •  of    death  ; '    and    he    recommends 

men  to  s-upport  old  age  as  long  as 

^  Cicero  has  censored  suicide  in  their  faculties  remain  unimpaired. 

his  Be    Senectute,    in   the    Somn.  On   this   last   point,   however,   his 

Scipionis,    and   in  the   Tuscidavs.  language   is   somewhat   contradic- 

Concerning  the  death  of  Gate,  he  tory.     There  is  a  good  review  of 

says,  that  the  occasion  was  such  as  the    opinions   of    the   ancients   in 

to  constitute  a  divine  call  to  leave  general,  and  of  Seneca  in  particu- 

llfe- — Tusc.  i.  lap,  on  this  subject  in  Justus  Lip- 

*  Apuleius,    Dc     Philos      Plat,  sius'  Mamiductio  ad  Stoicam  Fhilo- 
lib.  i.  sophiam,    lib.  iii.   dissert.  22,   23, 

*  Thus  Ovid  : —  from  which  I  have  borrowed  much. 


214  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    ^lORALS. 

he  pleases,  sometimes  incliiiing  to  the  Platonic  doctrine  that 
man  is  a  soldier  of  God,  occupying  a  post  which  it  is  criminal 
to  abandon.^  Plotinus  and  Porphyry  argued  strongly  against 
all  suicide.^ 

But,  notwithstanding  these  passages,  there  can  be  no 
piestion  that  the  ancient  view  of  suicide  was  broadly  and 
strongly  opposed  to  om*  own.  A  general  approval  of  it 
doated  down  through  most  of  the  schools  of  philosophy,  and 
even  to  those  who  condemned  it,  it  never  seems  to  have 
assumed  its  present  aspect  of  extr(}me  enormity.  This  was 
in  the  fii'st  instance  due  to  the  ancient  notion  of  death ;  and 
we  have  also  to  remember  that  when  a  society  once  learns  to 
to^.eiate  suicide,  the  deed,  in  ceasing  to  be  disgraceful,  loses 
much  of  its  actual  criminality,  for  those  who  are  most  firmly 
convinced  that  the  stigma  and  suffering  it  now  brings  upon 
the  family  of  the  dec(^.ased  do  not  constitute  its  entii-e  guilt, 
will  readily  acknowledge  that  they  gi-eat^y  aggi-avate  it.  In 
the  conditions  of  ancient  thought,  this  aggi-avation  did  not 
exist.  Epiciu'us  exhoi-ted  men  '  to  weigh  carefully,  whether 
they  would  prefer  death  to  come  to  them,  or  would  themselves 

1  In  his  Miditations,  ix.  3,  he  suicide    (Spartianus,    Hadrianus). 

speaks   of  the   duty   of  patiently  AecorJing  to  Capitolinus.  Marcus 

awaiting  death.     Eut  in  iii.   1.  x.  Aiirelius    in    his  la^t  illness  pur- 

8,  22-32,  he  clearly  recognises  the  posely   acclerated    his   death   by 

right    of    suicide   in    some    cases,  aljstiuence.     The  duty  of  not  has- 

especiallj  to  prevent  moral  degene-  tily,  or  through  cowardice,  aban- 

raey.     It  must  be  remembered  that  douing   a   path  of   duty,  and  the 

t\\o  Meditations  oi  IslavdMS  AmvqWws  riglit  of  man  to  quit  life  when  it 

were  priA'ate  notes  for  his  personal  appears  intolerable,  are  combined 

giiiilance,   that  all  the  Stoics   ad-  very  'dearly  by  PJpictetus,  Arrian, 

niitied  it  to  be  wrong  to  commit  i.  9;  and  the  latter  is  asserted  in 

suicide   in    cases   where    the    act  the  strongest  manner,  i.  24-25. 
would  be  an  injury  to  society,  and  '^  Porphyry,  Dc  Abst.  Carnis,  ii, 

tliat   this   consideration    in    itself  47  ;    Plo'inus,   1st  Enu.  ix.     Por- 

would   be   sufficient   to  divert  an  phyry  says  {Life  of  Plutinus)  that 

emperor  from  the  deed.     Antoni-  Plutinus  dissuaded  him  from  sui- 

nus,    the   uncle,   predecessor,   and  cide.     There  is  a  good  epitome  of 

model  of  M.  Axxrelius,  had  consi-  the  arguments  of  this  school  against 

dered  it  his  duty  several  times  to  suicide     in    Macrobius,    In    Som. 

prevont  Hadrian  from  committing  Scip.  1. 


THE    PAGAN    E;MPIRE. 


215 


go  bo  death ; '  ^  and  among  his  disciples,  Lucretius,  the  illus- 
trious poet  of  the  sect,  died  by  his  own  hand,^  as  did  also 
Cassius  the  tji-annicide,  Atticus  the  friend  of  Cicero,^  the 
voluptuary  Petronius,*  and  the  philosopher  Diodorus.^  Pliny 
described  the  lot  of  man  as  in  this  respect  at  least  superior 
to  that  of  God,  that  man  has  the  power  of  flying  to  the 
tomh,^  and  he  represented  it  as  one  of  the  greatest  proofs 
of  the  bounty  of  Providence,  that  it  has  filled  the  world 
\vdth  herbs,  by  which  the  weary  may  find  a  rapid  and  a  paiu 
less  death. '^  One  of  the  most  striking  figures  that  a  passing 
notice  of  Cicero  brings  before  us,  is  that  of  Hegesias,  who 


^  Quoted  by  Seneca,  Ej).  xxvi. 
Cicero  states  the  Epicurciiu  doc- 
trine to  be,  '  Ut  si  tolerabik'S  sint 
dolores,  feramus,  sia  minus  sequo 
animo  e  vita,  cum  ea  non  placet, 
tanquam  e  theatro,  excanms  '  {Be 
Finib.  i.  15) ;  and  a^'ain,  *De  Diis 
immortalibus  sine  ullo  metu  vera 
Bentit.  Non  dubitat,  si  ita  melius 
sit,  de  vita  migrare.'—  Id.  i.  19. 

-  Tliis  is  noticed  by  8t.  Jerome. 

^  Corn.  Nepos,  Atticus.  He 
killed  liimselt'  when  an  old  man,  to 
shorten  a  hopeless  disease. 

*  Petronius,  who  was  called  the 
arbitrator  of  tastes  ('  elegantiae 
arbiter'),  was  one  of  the  most 
famous  voluptuaries  of  the  reign  of 
Nero.  Unlike  most  of  his  contem- 
poraries, however,  he  was  endowed 
with  the  most  exqui-;ite  and  re- 
fined taste  ;  his  gracefid  mmners 
fascinated  all  about  him,  and  made 
him  in  matters  of  pleasure  the 
ruler  of  the  Court.  Appointed 
Proconsul  of  Bithynia,  and  after- 
wards Consul,  he  displayed  the 
energies  and  the  abilities  of  a 
statesman.  A  Court  intrigue  threw 
him  out  of  favour ;  and  believing 
that  his  death  was  resolved  on,  he 
determined  to  anticipate  it  by  sui- 


cide. Calling  his  friends  about 
him,  he  opened  his  veins,  shut 
them,  and  opened  them  again; 
prolonged  his  lingering  death  till 
he  had  arranged  his  affairs;  dis- 
coursed in  his  last  moments,  not 
about  the  immortality  of  the  si  ul 
or  the  dogmas  of  philosophers,  but 
about  thfc  gay  songs  and  epigrams 
of  the  hoiu' ;  and  partaking  of  a 
cheerful  banquet,  died  as  recklessly 
as  he  h.id  lived  (Tacit.  Annal. 
xvi  18-19.)  It  has  been  a  matter 
of  much  dispute  whether  or  not 
this  Petronius  was  the  author  of 
the  Satyricon,  one  of  the  mo.^t 
licentious  and  repulsive  works  in 
Latin  literature. 

^  Seneca,  De  Vita  Beata,  xix. 

®  'Imperfectte  voro  in  homine 
naturse  pireoipua  solatia,  ne  Deum 
quidem  posse  omnia ;  namque  nec 
sibi  potest  inorrem  consciscere  si 
velit,  quoii  homini  dedit  optimum 
in  tantis  vitse  poenis.' — Hist.  Nat 
ii.  5. 

'■Hist.  Nat.  ii.  63.  We  need 
not  be  surprised  at  this  writer  thus 
speaking  of  sudden  death,  '  Mortes 
repentinse  (hoc  est  sumraa  vitse 
feliciras),'  vii.  54. 


216  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

was  surnamed  by  the  ancients  '  the  oi^tor  of  death.'  A  con- 
spicuous member  of  that  Cyrenaic  school  which  esteemed  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure  the  sole  end  of  a  rational  being,  he  taught 
that  life  was  so  full  of  cares,  and  its  pleasure  so  fleeting  and  £0 
alloyed,  that  the  happiest  lot  for  man  was  death ;  and  such 
was  the  power  of  his  eloquence,  so  intense  was  the  fascination 
he  cast  around  the  tomb,  that  his  disciples  embraced  with 
i-apture  the  consequence  of  his  doctrine,  multitudes  freed 
themselves  by  suicide  from  the  troubles  of  the  world,  and  the 
contagion  was  so  great,  that  Ptolemy,  it  is  said,  was  compelled 
to  banish  the  philosopher  from  Alexandiia.  ^ 

Biit  it  was  in  the  Roman  Empii-e  and  among  the  Roman 
Stoics  that  suicide  assume<i  its  greatest  prominence,  and  its 
pliilosophy  was  most  fully  elaborated.  From  an  early  period 
self-immolation,  like  that  of  Curtius  or  Decius,  had  been 
esteemed  in  some  cii-cumstances  a  religious  rite,  being,  as  has 
been  well  suggested,  probably  a  lingering  remnant  of  the 
custom  of  human  sacrifices,^  and  towards  the  closing  days  of 
paganism  many  influences  conspired  in  the  same  direction. 
The  example  of  Cato,  who  had  become  the  ideal  of  the 
Stoics,  and  whose  dramatic  suicide  was  the  favouiite  sub- 
ject of  their  eloquence,^  the  in  difference  to  death  produced 
by  the  gi'eat  multiplication  of  gladiatorial  shows,  the  many 
instances  of  bai-baiian  captives,  who,  sooner  than  slay  theii' 
fellow-countrymen,  or  minister  to  the  pleasures  of  their  con- 
qverors,  plunged  theii-  lances  into  their  own  nocks,  or  found 


'  Tusc.  Quest,  lib.  1.     Another  1788),  pp.  81-82.     The  real  name 

remarkable  example  of  an  epidemic  of  the  author  of  this  bnok  (which 

of   suicide    occurred    amou  t    the  is,  i  tliink,  the  best  hibtory  of  sui- 

young  girls  of  Miletus.    {Aid.  GeU.  cide)   was  Buonafede      He  was  a 

XV.  10.)  Celestiue   monk.      The   book   waa 

■•^  Sir  Cornewall  Lewis,  On  the  first  published  at  Lucca  in   1761. 

Credibility  of  Early  Boman  Hlstcry,  It  was  translated  into  French  in 

vol.  ii.  p.  430.      See,  too,   on  this  1841. 

3liiss  of  suicides,  Cromaziano,  /si'rt-  ^  Senec.    De   Trovid.    ii. ;    Ep 

rica  Critica  dil  Suicidio  (Venezia,  xsiv. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  217 

Other  and  still  more  horiible  roads  to  freedom/  the  custom 
of  compelling  political  prisonei"s  to  execute  tliek-  own  sentence, 
and,  more  than  all,  the  capricious  and  atrocious  tyranny 
of  the  Ciesai's,^  had  raised  suicide  iato  an  extraordkiary 
pi  jminence.  Few  things  are  more  touching  than  the  pas- 
sionate joy  with  which,  in  the  reign  of  Nero,  Seneca  clung 
to  it  aa  the  one  refuge  for  the  oppressed,  the  last  bulwark 
of  tb3  tottering  mind.  '  To  death  alone  it  is  due  that  life 
is  not  a  pimishment,  that,  erect  beneath  the  frowns  of 
fortune,  I  can  preserve  my  mind  unriaken  and  master  of 
itself.  I  have  one  to  whom  I  can  appeal.  I  see  before  me 
the  crosses  of  many  forms.  ...  I  see  the  rack  and  tht;  scourge, 
and  the  instniments  of  toi-ture  adapted  to  every  limb  and  to 
every  nerve ;  but  I  also  see  Death.  She  stands  beyond  my 
savage  enemies,  beyond  my  haughty  fellow-countrymen. 
Slavery  loses  its  bitterness  when  by  a  step  I  can  pass  to 
liberty.  Against  all  the  injuries  of  life,  I  have  the  refuge  of 
death.' ^  '  Wherever  you  look,  there  is  the  end  of  evils.  You 
see  that  yawning  pi-ecipice — there  you  may  descend  to 
liberty.  You  see  that  sea,  that  river,  that  well — liberty  sits 
at  the  bottom.  .  .  .  Do  you  seek  the  way  to  freedom"? — you 
may  find  it  in  every  vein  of  yom*  body.'^  *  If  I  can  choose 
between  a  death  of  torture  and  one  that  is  simple  and  ea.sy, 
why  should  I  not  select  the  latter  1  As  I  choose  the  ship 
in  which  I  will  sail,  and  the  house  I  will  inhabit,  so  I  will 
choose  the  death  by  M^hich  I  will  leave  life.  ...  In  no  mat- 
ter more  than  in  death  should  we  act  accoi-ding  to  our  desire. 
Depart  from  life  as  yoiu-  impulse  leads  you,  whether  it  be  by 
the  sword,  or  the  rope,  or  the  poison  creeping  through  the 
veins  ;  go  your  way,  and  Ijreak  the  chains  of  slavery.  Man 
gliould  seek  the  approbation  of  others  in  his  life ;  his  death 


'  See  some  examples  of  this  in  Croraaziano,  Isf.  del  Suicidio,  pp 

Sjnecd,  Ej).  Ixx.  112-  .1 4. 

-  See  a  loug  catalogue  of  siii-  ^  Consol.  ad  Marc.  c.  xx. 

sides  arising  from  this  cause,    in  *  I)e  Ira,  iii.  15 

16 


218 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


concerns  himself  alcne.  That  is  the  best  which  pleases  him 
most.  .  .  .  Tlie  eternal  law  has  decreed  nothing  better  than 
this,  that  life  should  have  but  one  entrance  and  many  exits. 
"Why  should  I  endure  the  agonies  of  disease,  and  the  crueltieg 
of  human  tyranny,  when  I  can  emancipate  myself  from  all 
my  torments,  and  shake  off  every  bond  1  For  this  reason, 
but  for  this  alone,  life  is  not  an  e^il — that  no  one  is  obliged 
to  live.  The  lot  of  man  is  happy,  because  no  one  continues 
wretched  bat  by  his  fault.  If  life  pleases  you,  live.  If  not, 
you  have  a  right  to  return  whence  you  came.'^ 

These  passages,  which  are  but  a  few  selected  out  of  A^ery 
many,  will  sufficiently  show  the  passion  with  which  the  most 
influential  teacher  of  Koman  Stoicism  advocated  suicide.  As 
a  general  proposition,  the  law  recognised  it  as  a  right,  but 
two  slight  restrictions  were  after  a  time  imposed.^     It  had 


I  fp.  Ixx. 

'-  See  Donne's  Biathanatos  (Lon- 
don, 1700),  pp.  56-57.  Gibbun's 
Decline  and  Fall,  ch.  xliv.  Black- 
stone,  in  his  chnpter  on  suicide, 
quotes  the  sentence  of  the  Roman 
lawyers  on  the  subject :  '  Si  quis 
impatieniia  doloris  aur  tsedio  vitae 
aut  morbo  aut  furore  aut  pudore 
mori  maluit  non  auinia  Ivertatur  in 
eum.'  Ulpiau  expressly  asserts 
that  the  vrids  of  suicides  were  re- 
cognised by  law,  and  numerous 
examples  of  the  act,  notoriously 
prepared  and  publicly  and  gradu- 
ally accomplished,  piove  its  legal- 
ity in  Rome.  Suetonius,  it  is 
true,  speaks  of  Claudius  accusing  a 
man  for  having  tried  to  kill  himself 
(Claud,  xvi.),  and  Xiphilin  siys 
(Ixix.  8)  that  Hadrian  gave  special 
permission  to  the  philosopher  Eu- 
phrates to  commit  suicide,  '  on 
accDuut  of  old  age  and  disease , ' 
but  in  the  first  case  it  appears 
fix>m  the  context  that  a  reproach 


and  U'  t  a  legal  action  was  meant, 
while  Euphrates,  I  suppose,  asked 
permis-ion  to  show  his  loyalty  to 
the  emperor,  and  not  as  a  matter 
of  strict  necessity.  There  were, 
however,  some  Greek  laws  con- 
demning suicide,  probably  on  civic 
grounds.  Joseph  us  mentions  {De 
Bell.  Jud.  iii.  8)  that  in  some 
natious  '  the  right  hand  of  the  sui- 
cide was  amputated,  and  that  in 
Judea  the  suicide  was  only  buried 
after  sunset.'  A  very  strange  law, 
said  to  have  been  derived  from 
Greece,  is  reported  to  have  existed 
at  Marseilles  Poison  was  kept  by 
the  senate  of  the  city,  and  given  to 
those  who  could  prove  that  they 
had  sufficient  reason  to  justify  their 
desire  for  death,  and  all  other 
suicide  was  forbiddnn.  The  law 
was  intended,  it  was  said,  to  pre- 
vent hasty  suicide,  and  to  make 
deUberate  suicide  as  rapid  and 
painless  as  possible.  (Valep. 
Maximus,  ii.  6,  §  7.)  In  the  Keigu 


PAGAN    EMPIRE.  219 

become  customary  with  many  men  who  were  accused  of  poli- 
tical offences  to  commit  suicide  before  trial,  in  order  to 
prevent  the  ignomitiious  exposure  of  theu'  bodies  and  the  con- 
fiscation of  their  goods ;  but  Domitian  closed  this  resource  by 
ordainiQg  that  the  suicide  of  an  accused  person  should  entail 
the  same  consequences  as  his  condemnation.  Hadrian  after- 
wards assimilated  the  suicide  of  a  Roman  soldier  to  desertion.* 
"With  these  exceptions,  the  liberty  appears  to  have  been 
absolute,  and  the  act  was  committed  under  the  most  various 
motives.  The  suicide  of  Otho,  who  is  said  to  have  killed 
himself  to  avoid  beiug  a  second  time  a  cause  of  civil  war,  was 
extolled  as  equal  in  grandeur  to  that  of  Cato.'-^  In  the  Dacian 
war,  the  enemy,  having  captured  a  distinguished  Roman 
general  named  Longlnus,  endeavoured  to  extort  terms  from 
Trajan  as  a  condition  of  his  surrender,  but  Longinus,  by 
taking  poison,  freed  the  emperor  from  his  embarrassment.^ 
On  the  death  of  Otho,  some  of  his  soldiers,  filled  with  grief 
and  admii'ation,  killed  themselves  before  his  corpse,'*  as  did 
also  a  freedman  of  Agrippina,  at  the  funeral  of  the  empress.* 
Before  the  close  of  the  Republic,  an  enthusiastic  partisan  of 
one  of  the  factions  in  the  chariot  races  flung  himself  upon  the 
pile  on  which  the  body  of  a  favourite  coachman  was  consumed, 
and  perished  in  the  flames.®     A  Roman,  unmenaced  in  his 


of  Terror  in  France,  a  law  was  made  'Sit  Cato,  dum  vivit,  sane  vel  C?e- 

siinilar  to  that  of  Domitian.    (Car-  .s:\re  major; 

lyle's  Hist,  of  the   French  Revolu-  Dum  moritur,  numquid  major 

tion,  book  v.  e.  ii )  Othone  fuit  ?' — Ejp.  vi.  32. 

>  Compare  with  this  a  curious  s  xiphilin,  Ixviii.  12. 

'orderofthoday.^issuedbyNapo-  ,  ^-^^-^^     ^._^^^     .j_     ^^^       ^^^^^^ 


leon   in    1802,    with    tlie   view   of 
cheeking  the  prevalence  of  suicide 


Otho,  12.     Suetonius  says  that,  in 
addition   to   these,    many   soldiei:^ 


TlTiJt.  -11'".^;  ^   (^'^'^-    ^"     who  were  not  present  killed  tl.em- 


Suicide,  pp.  4G2-463.) 


selves  on  hearing  the  news. 


2  See  Suetonius,  Otho.  c.  x.-xi.,  s  ii,if|  j,j„a7  xiv  9 

and  the  very  fine   description    in  «  pj^^;  Hist.  Nat.  Vii.  54.     The 

Tacitus      Hist.    bb.    11.    c^   47-49  opposite  faction  attributed  this  sui- 

Martial    compares    the    death    of  cide  to  the  maddening  eiFects  of  the 


Otbo  to  that  of  Cato 


Derfumos  burnt  on  the  pile. 


220  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

fortune,  and  standing  high  in  the  favour  of  his  sovereign, 
killed  himself  nnder  Tiberius,  because  he  could  not  endure  to 
witness  the  crimes  of  the  empire.'  Another,  being  afflicted 
by  an  incurable  malady,  postponed  his  suicide  till  the  death 
of  Domitian,  that  at  least  he  might  die  free,  and  on  the  assas- 
sination of  the  tyrant,  hastened  cheerfully  to  the  tomb.^  The 
Cynic  Peregrinus  announced  that,  beiag  weary  of  life,  he 
would  on  a  certain  day  depart,  and,  in  presence  of  a  lai'ge 
concom-se,  he  mounted  the  funeral  pile.^  Most  frequently, 
however,  death  was  regarded  as  '  the  last  physician  of  disease,'^ 
and  suicide  as  the  legitimate  relief  from  intolerable  suffering. 
*  Above  all  thing's,'  said  Epictetus,  '  remember  that  the  door 
is  open.  Be  not  more  timid  than  boys  at  play.  As 
they,  when  they  cease  to  take  pleasm-e  m.  then-  games,  declare 
they  will  no  longer  play,  so  do  you,  when  all  things  begin  to 
pall  upon  you,  retii^e ;  but  if  you  stay,  do  not  complain.'^ 
Seneca  declared  that  he  who  waits  the  extremity  of  old  age 
is  not  '  far  removed  from  a  coward,'  'as  he  is  justly  regarded 
as  too  much  addicted  to  wine  who  di-ains  the  flask  to  the  very 
dregs.'  '  I  will  not  relinquish  old  age,'  he  added,  'if  it  leaves 
my  better  part  intact.  But  if  it  begins  to  shake  my  mind, 
if  it  destroys  its  faculties  one  by  one,  if  it  leaves  me  not  life 
but  breath,  I  will  depart  from  the  putrid  or  tottering  edifice.  - 
I  will  not  escape  by  death  from  disease  so  long  as  it  may  be 
healed,  and  leaves  my  mind  unimpau-ed.  I  will  not  raise  my 
hand  against  myse'f  on  account  of  pain,  for  so  to  die  is  to  be 
conquered.  But  if  I  know  that  I  must  suffer  without  hope  of 
relief,  I  wUl  depart,  not  through  fear  of  the  pain  itself,  but 
l)ecause  it  prevents  all  for  which  I  would  live.'^  'Just  as  a 
landlord,'  said  Musonius, '  who  has  not  received  his  rent,  puUa 


'  Tacit.  Annal.  vi.  26.  too,  Ammianus  Marcellinus,  xxix, 

5  Plin.  Ep.  i.  12.  1. 

3  This  history  is  satirically  and  *  Sophocles, 

•nfeelingly  told   by  Lucian.     See,  *  Arrian,  i.  24. 

'^  Seneca,  Ep.  hiii. 


THE    TAG  AN    EMPIRE.  221 

down  the  doors,  removes  the  rafters,  and  fills  up  the  well,  so 
I  seem  to  be  driven  out  of  this  little  body,  when  natiu'e^ 
which  has  let  it  to  me,  takes  away,  one  by  one,  eye.-^  and 
ears,  hands  and  feet.  I  will  not,  therefore,  delay  longer,  bul 
will  cheerfully  depart  as  from  a  banquet.'^ 

This  conception  of  suicide  as  an  euthanasia,  an  abridg 
ment  of  the  pangs  of  disease,  and  a  guarantee  against  th<j 
dotage  of  age,  was  not  confined  to  philosophical  treatises. 
We  have  considerable  evidence  of  its  being  frequently  put  in 
practice.  Among  those  who  thus  abridged  their  lives  was 
Silius  Italicus,  one  of  the  last  of  the  Latin  poets.  ^  The 
younger  Pliny  describes  in  terms  of  the  most  glowing  admii-a- 
tion  the  conduct  of  one  of  his  friends,  who,  struck  down  bv 
disease,  resolved  calmly  and  deliberately  upon  the  path  he 
should  pursue.  He  determined,  if  the  disease  was  only  dan- 
gerous and  long,  to  yield  to  the  wishes  of  his  fiiends  and 
await  the  struggle  ;  but  if  the  issue  was  hopeless,  to  die  by 
his  own  hand.  Having  reajroned  on  the  propriety  of  this 
course  with  all  the  tranquil  courage  of  a  Roman,  he  sum- 
moned a  council  of  physicians,  and,  xnth  a  mind  indifierent 
to  either  fate,  he  calmly  awaited  their  sentence.^  The  same 
wi'itcr  mentions  the  case  of  a  man  who  was  afilicted  with  a 
hoiTible  disease,  which  reduced  his  body  to  a  mass  of  sores. 
His  wife,  being  convinced  that  it  was  incurable,  exhorted  her 
husband  to  shorten  his  sufierings  ;  she  nerved  and  encouraged 
him  to  the  efibrt,  and  she  claimed  it  as  her  privilege  to 
accompany   him  to  the  grave.     Husband  and   wife,  bound 

'  Stobseus.      One   of  the  most  quodam  et  instinctu  procurrere  ad 

deliberate   suicides    recorded    was  nioriem,    commune    cum     multis: 

that  of  a  Greek  woman  of  ninety  delil)erare  vero  et  causas  ejus  ex~ 

jears  old. — Val.  Maxim,  ii.  6,  §  8.  pendere,  utque  suaserit  ratio,  vitfe 

-  Plin.  Ep.  iii.  7.     He  starved  mortisque  consihum  suscipere  vel 

himself  to  death.  ponere,    ingentis   est    animi.'      In 

^  Ep.   i.   22.     Some  of  Pliny's  this   case  the  doctors  pronounced 

expressions  are  remarkable : — '  Id  that   recovery  was    possible,    and 

ego  arduum  in  primis  et  prsecipua  the    suicide    was    in    consequence 

laude  dignum  put-).     ^h.m  impetu  averted. 


222  HISTORY    OF    EUKOPEAN    MORALS. 

together,  plunged  into  a  lake.'  Seneca,  in  one  of  his  letters, 
has  left  us  a  detailed  description  of  the  death-bed  of  one  of 
the  Roman  suicides.  Tullius  Marcellinus,  a  voung  man  of 
remarkable  abilities  and  very  earnest  character,  who  had  long 
ridiculed  the  teachings  of  philosophy,  but  had  ended  by  em« 
bracing  it  with  all  the  passion  of  a  convert,  being  afflicted  with 
a  grave  and  lingering  though  not  incurable  disease,  resolved 
at  length  upon  suicide.  He  gathered  his  friends  around  him, 
and  many  of  them  entreated  him  to  continue  in  life.  Among 
them,  however,  was  one  Stoical  philosopher,  who  addressed 
him  in  what  Seneca  terms  the  very  noblest  of  discourses. 
He  exhorted  him  not  to  lay  too  much  stress  upon  the  ques- 
tion he  was  decidinsr,  as  if  existence  was  a  matter  of  svesit  im- 
portance.  He  urged  that  life  is  a  thing  we  possess  in  common 
with  slaves  and  animals,  but  that  a  noble  death  should  in- 
deed be  prized,  and  he  concluded  by  recommending  suicide. 
Marcellinus  gladly  embraced  the  counsel  which  his  own 
wishes  had  anticipated.  According  to  the  advice  of  his 
friend,  he  distributed  gifts  among  his  faithful  slaves,  consoled 
them  on  theii*  approaching  bereavement,  abstained  during 
three  days  from  all  food,  and  at  last,  when  his  strength  had 
been  wholly  exhausted,  passed  into  a  warm  bath  and  calmly 
died,  describing  with  his  last  breath  the  pleasing  sensations 
that  accompanied  receding  life.^ 

The  doctrine  of  siucide  was  indeed  the  culminating  point 
of  Roman  Stoicism.  The  proud,  self-reliant,  unbending  cha- 
racter of  the  philosopher  could  only  be  sustained  when  he  felt 
that  he  had  a  sure  refuge  against  the  extreme  forms  of  suf- 
fei-ing  or  of  despau\  Although  virtue  is  not  a  mere  creature 
of  interest,  no  great  system  has  ever  yet  flourished  which 
did  not  present  au  ideal  of  happiness  as  well  as  an  ideal  of 
duty.     Stoicism  taught  men  to  hope  little,  but  to  fear  no  tiling. 


'  Lib.  vi.  Ep.  xxiv. 

'  B^.  Ixxvii.     On  the  former  career  of  Marcellinus,  see  Ej).  xxix 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  223 

It  did  not  array  death  in  brilliant  colours,  as  the  path  to 
positive  felicity,  but  it  endeavourtd  to  divest  it,  as  the  end 
of  suffering,  of  every  terror.  Life  lost  much  of  its  bitterness 
when  men  had  found  a  refuge  fi-om  tlie  storms  of  fate,  a 
speedy  deliverance  from  dotage  and  pain.  Death  ceased  to 
be  terrible  when  it  was  regarded  rather  as  a  remedy  than  as 
a  sentence.  Life  and  death  in  the  Stoical  system  were  attuned 
to  the  same  key.  The  deification  of  human  vii'tue,  the  total 
absence  of  all  sense  of  sin,  the  proud  stubborn  will  that  deemed 
humiliation  the  worst  of  stains,  appeared  alike  in  each.  The 
type  of  its  own  kind  was  perfect.  All  the  vir-tues  and  all  the 
majesty  that  accompany  human  pride,  when  developed  to  the 
highest  point,  and  dii-ected  to  the  noblest  ends,  were  here  dis- 
played. All  those  which  accompany  humility  and  self-abase- 
ment were  absent. 

I  desu-e  at  this  stage  of  our  enquiry  to  pause  for  a  moment, 
in  oi-der  to  retrace  briefly  the  leading  steps  of  the  foregoing 
argument,  and  thus  to  bring  into  the  clearest  light  the  con- 
nection vv^hich  many  details  an  J  quotations  may  have  occa- 
sionally obscured.  Such  a  review  will  show  at  a  single  glance 
in  what  respects  Stoicism  was  a  result  of  the  pre  existent  state 
of  society,  and  ia  what  respects  it  was  an  active  agent,  how 
far  its  inlluence  was  preparing  the  way  for  Christian  ethics, 
and  how  far  it  was  opposed  to  them. 

We  have  seen,  then,  that  among  the  Romans,  as  among 
other  people,  a  very  clear  and  definite  type  of  moral  excellence 
was  created  before  men  had  foiined  any  c'ear  intellectual 
rotions  of  the  nature  and  sanctions  of  virtue.  The  characters 
of  men  are  cliiefly  governed  by  then-  occupations,  and  the  re- 
public being  organised  altogether  with  a  view  to  military 
euccess,  it  had  attained  all  the  virtues  and  vices  of  a  military 
society.  We  have  seen,  too,  that  at  all  times,  but  most 
especially  under  the  conditions  of  ancient  warfare,  militaiy  life 
is  very  unfavourable  to  the  amiable,  and  very  favourable  to 
the  heroic  virtues.     The  Roman  had  learnt  to   value  force 


224  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MOEALS. 

very  higlilj.  Being  continiTally  engaged  in  inflicting  pain» 
liis  natural  or  instinctive  humanity  was  very  low.  His  moral 
fee'ings  were  almost  bounded  by  political  limits,  acting  only, 
and  with  diffeient  degrees  of  intensity,  towards  his  class,  hia 
country,  and  its  allies.  Indomitable  pride  was  the  most 
prominent  element  of  his  character.  A  victorious  army 
which  is  humble  or  dilSdent,  or  tolerant  of  insult,  or 
anxious  to  take  the  second  j.'lace,  is,  indeed,  almost  a  con- 
tradiction of  terms.  The  spirit  of  patriotism,  in  its  relation  to 
foreigners,  like  that  of  political  liberty  in  its  relation  to 
governors,  is  a  spirit  of  constant  and  jealous  se'f-assertion  ; 
and  although  both  are  very  consonant  with  high  morality  and 
gi-eat  self-devotion,  we  rarely  find  that  the  gi-ace  of  genuine 
humility  can  flourish  in  a  society  that  is  intensely  })ervaded 
by  their  influence.  The  kind  of  excellence  that  found  most 
favour  in  Roman  eyes  was  simple,  forcible,  massive,  but 
coarse-grained.  Subtilty  of  motives,  refinements  of  feelings, 
delicacies  of  susce])tibility,  were  rarely  appreciated. 

This  was  the  darker  side  of  the  picture.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  national  character,  being  formed  by  a  profession  in 
which  mercenary  considei-ations  are  less  powerful,  and  splendid 
examples  of  self-devotion  more  frequent,  than  in  any  other, 
had  early  risen  to  a  heroic  level.  Death  being  continually 
confronted,  to  meet  it  with  corn-age  was  the  chief  test  of 
virtue.  The  habits  of  men  were  unafiected,  frugal,  honourable, 
and  laborious.  A  stern  discipline  pervading  all  ages  and 
classes  of  society,  the  will  was  trained,  to  an  almost  unex- 
ampled degi-ee,  to  repress  the  passions,  to  endure  suffering 
and  opposition,  to  tend  steadily  and  fearlessly  towards  an  un- 
popular end.  A  sense  of  duty  was  very  widely  drfiused,  and 
a  deep  attachment  to  the  interests  of  the  city  became  the 
parent  of  many  virtues. 

Such  was  the  type  of  excellence  the  Roman  people  had 
attained  at  a  time  when  its  intellectual  cultivation  produced 
philosophical    discussions,  and  when   numerous  Greek   pro- 


THE   PAGAN    EMPIRE,  225 

fessors,  attrfictpcl  partly  by  political  events,  and  partly  by  the 
patronage  of  Scijiio  ^^Cmilianus,  arrived  at  Eome,  bringing 
with  them  the  tenets  of  the  great  schools  of  Zeno  and  Epicu- 
rus, and  of  the  many  minor  sects  that  clustered  around  them. 
Epicureanism  being  essentially  opposed  to  the  pre-existing 
type  of  virtue,  though  it  spread  greatly,  never  attained  the 
position  of  a  school  of  vii'tue.  Stoicism,  taught  by  Panottius 
of  Ehodes,  and  soon  after  by  the  S}T:ian  Posidonius,  became 
the  true  religion  of  the  educated  classes.  It  furnished  the 
principles  of  virtue,  coloured  the  noblest  literature  of  the 
time,  and  guided  all  the  developments  of  moral  enthusiasm. 

The  Stoical  system  of  ethics  was  in  the  highest  sense  a 
system  of  independent  morals.  It  taught  that  our  reason 
reveals  to  us  a  certain  lav/  of  nature,  and  that  a  desire  to 
conform  to  this  law,  irrespectively  of  all  considerations  of 
reward  or  punishment,  of  happiness  or  the  reverse,  is  a  pos- 
sible and  a  sufficient  motive  of  vii-tue.  It  was  also  in  the 
highest  sense  a  system  of  discipline.  It  taught  that  the  will, 
acting  under  the  complete  control  of  the  reason,  is  the  sole 
principle  of  virtue,  and  that  all  the  emotional  part  of  our 
being  is  of  the  nature  of  a  disease.  Its  whole  tendency  was 
therefore  to  dignify  and  strengthen  the  will,  and  to  degrade 
and  suppress  the  desires.  It  taught,  moreover,  that  man  is 
capable  of  attaining  an  extreme"" y  high  degree  of  moral  ex- 
cellence, that  he  has  nothing  to  fear  beyond  the  present  life, 
that  it  is  essential  to  the  dignity  and  consistence  of  his  cha- 
racter that  he  should  regard  death  without  dismay,  and  that 
he  has  a  right  to  hasten  it  if  he  desii-es. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  this  system  of  ethics  was  strictly 
consonant  with  the  type  of  character  the  circumstances  of  the 
Poman  people  had  formed.  It  is  also  manifest  that  while 
the  force  of  circumstances  had  in  the  first  instance  secured 
its  ascendancy,  the  energy  of  will  which  it  produced  would 
enable  it  to  offer  a  powerful  resistance  to  the  tendencies  of 
an  altered  condition  of  society.       This  was  pre-eminently 


226  niSTOEY   OF   EUROPEAN   MORALS. 

Ehown  in  the  history  of  Eoman  Stoicism.  The  austere 
p  irity  of  the  %vritings  of  Seneca  and  his  school  is  a  fact 
])robably  aniqne  in  liistory,  when  we  consider,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  intense  and  iindisgnised  depravity  of  the  Empiio, 
Rnd  on  the  other,  the  prominent  position  of  most  of  the 
leading  Stoics  in  the  very  centre  of  the  stream.  More  than 
once  in  later  periods  did  great  intellectual  brilliancy  coincide 
with  general  depi'avity,  but  on  none  of  these  occasions  was 
this  moral  phenomenon  reproduced.  In  the  age  of  Leo  X., 
in  the  age  of  the  French  Eegency,  or  of  Lewis  XY.,  we  look 
in  vain  for  liigh  moral  teaching  in  the  centre  of  Italian  or  of 
Parisian  civilisation.  The  true  teachers  of  those  ages  were 
the  reformers,  who  arose  in  obscure  towns  of  Germany  or 
Switzerland,  or  that  diseased  recluse  who,  from  his  solitude 
near  Geneva,  fascinated  Europe  by  the  gleams  of  a  da7zling 
and  almost  i)eerless  eloquence,  and  by  a  moral  teaching 
which,  though  often  feverish,  paradoxical,  and  unpractical, 
abounded  in  passages  of  transcendent  majesty  and  of  the 
most  entrancing  purity  and  beauty.  But  even  the  best 
moral  ieaehers  who  rose  in  the  centres  of  the  depraved 
society  felt  the  contagion  of  the  surrounding  vice.  Their 
ideal  was  depressed,  their  austerity  w^as  relaxed,  they  appealed 
to  sordfd  and  worldly  motives,  their  judgments  of  character 
were  wavering  and  uncertain,  their  whole  teaching  was  of 
the  nature  of  a  compromise.  But  in  ancient  Bome,  if  the 
teachers  of  viii;ue  acted  but  feebly  upon  the  surrounding 
corruption,  their  own  tenets  were  at  least  unstained.  The 
splendour  of  the  genius  of  Caesar  never  eclipsed  the  moral 
grandeur  of  the  vanquished  Cato,  and  amid  all  the  dramatic 
vicissitudes  of  civil  war  and  of  political  convulsion,  the 
supreme  authority  of  moral  distinctions  was  never  forgotten. 
The  eloquence  of  Livy  was  chiefly  employed  in  painting 
virtue,  the  eloquence  of  Tacitus  in  branding  vice.  The 
Stoics  never  lowered  their  standard  because  of  the  depravity 
around  them,  and  if  we  ^^ace  in  their  teaching  any  reflectioa 


TnE   PAGAN   EMPIEE.  227 

of  the  prevailing  worship  of  enjoyment,  it  is  only  in  the 
passionate  intensity  with  which  they  dwelt  upon  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  tomb. 

But  it  is  not  sufficient  for  a  moral  system  to  form  a  bul- 
wark against  vice,  it  must  also  be  capable  of  admitting  those 
extensions  and  refinements  of  moral  sympathies  which 
advancing  civilisation  produces,  and  the  inflexibility  of  its 
antagonism  to  evil  by  no  means  implies  its  ca])acity  of  en- 
larging its  conceptions  of  good.  During  the  period  which 
elapsed  between  the  importation  of  Stoical  tenets  into  Rome 
and  the  ascendancy  of  Christianity,  an  extremely  important 
transformation  of  moral  ideas  had  been  effected  by  political 
changes,  and  it  became  a  question  how  f^ir  the  new  elements 
could  coalesce  with  the  Sto'cal  ideal,  and  how  fir  they  tended 
to  replace  it  by  an  essentially  different  type.  These  changes 
were  twofold,  but  were  very  closely  connected.  They  con- 
sisted of  the  increasing  prominence  of  the  benevolent  or 
amiable,  as  distinguished  from  the  heroic  qualities,  and  of  the 
enlargement  of  moral  sympathies,  which  having  at  fii'st  com- 
prised only  a  class  or  a  nation,  came  at  last,  by  the  destruc- 
tion of  many  artificial  barriers,  to  include  all  classes  and  all 
nations.  The  causes  of  these  changes — which  were  the  most 
important  antecedents  of  the  triumph  of  Christianity — are 
very  complicated  and  numerous,  but  it  will,  I  think,  be  pos 
sible  to  give  in  a  few  pages  a  sufiiciently  clear  outline  of  the 
movement. 

It  originated  in  the  Roman  Empire  at  the  time  when 
the  union  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  civilisations  was  effected 
by  the  conquest  of  Greece.  The  general  humanity  of  the 
Greeks  had  always  been  incomparably  greater  than  that 
of  the  Romans.  The  refining  influence  of  their  art  and 
literature,  their  ignorance  of  gladiatorial  games,  and  their 
comparative  freedom  from  the  spirit  of  conquest,  had  sepa- 
rated them  widely  from  their  semi-barbarous  conquerors,  and 
had  given  a  peculiar  softness  and  tenderness  to  their  ideal 


228  niSTORT  OF  eueopean  mohals. 

characters.  Pericles,  who,  when  the  friends  who  had 
gathered  round  his  death-bed,  imagining  him  to  be  insensible, 
were  recounting  his  splendid  deeds,  told  them  that  they  had 
forgotten  his  best  title  to  fame — that  '  no  Athenian  had  ever 
worn  mourning  on  his  account; '  Aristides,  praying  the  gods 
that  those  who  had  banished  him  might  never  be  compelled 
by  danger  or  suffering  to  recall  him  ;  Phocion,  when  unjustly 
condemned,  exhorting  his  son  never  to  avenge  his  death,  all 
represent  a  type  of  character  of  a  milder  kind  than  that 
which  Roman  influences  produced.  The  plays  of  Euripides 
had  been  to  the  ancient  world  the  first  great  revelation  of 
the  supreme  beauty  of  the  gentler  virtues.  Among  the  many 
forms  of  worship  that  flourished  at  Athens,  there  was  an 
altar  which  stood  alone,  conspicuous  and  honoured  beyond 
all  others.  The  suppliants  thronged  around  it,  but  no  image 
of  a  god,  no  symbol  of  dogma  was  there.  It  was  dedicated 
to  Pity,  and  was  venerated  thr  nigh  all  the  ancient  world  as 
the  first  great  assertion  among  mankind  of  the  supreme 
sanctity  of  Mercy.  ^ 

But  while  the  Greek  spirit  was  from  a  very  early  period 


'  See  the  very  beautiful  lines  of  Nulla  autem  effigies,  nuUi  com 

Statius: —  niissa  metallo 

Forma   Dese,  mentes  habitare  et 

'  Urbe   fuit   media    ciilli    concessa  pectora  gaudet. 

potentum  Semper    habet   trepidos,    semper 

Ara,  Deum,mitisposuit  dementia  locus  horret  egenis 

sedem :  Coetibus,  iguotse  tantum  felicibus 

Er  mispri  focere  sacram,  sine  sup-  arae.' — Thchaid,  xii.  481-496. 

plice  numquam 

Ilia  noA'o;    nulla  damnavit  vota  This  altar  was  ver}' old,  and  was 

repulsa.  said  to  have  been  founded  by  the 

Auditi    quicunque    rogant,    noc-  descendants  of  Hercules.    Diodorus 

tesque  diesque  ot  Sicily,  however,  makes  a  Syra- 

Ire  datura,  et  solis  nuraen  placare  cusan  say  that  it  was  brought  from 

querelis.  Syracuse    (lib.  xiii    22).      Marcus 

Parca    superstitio;     non    thurea  Aurelius  erected  a  temple  to  '  Bene- 

flamma,  nee  altus  ficentia' on  the  Capitol.    (Xiphilin, 

Accipitur  sanguis,   lachrymis  al-  lib.  Ixxi.  34.) 

taria  sudant.  .  . 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  229 

dLstinguishe.l  for  its  humanity,  it  was  at  first  as  far  removed 
from  cosmopolitanism  as  that  of  Kome.  It  is  well  known 
that  Phrynichus  was  fined  because  in  his  '  Conquest  of  Mile- 
bus'  he  had  represented  the  triumph  of  barbarians  over 
Greeks.^  His  successor,  ^schylus,  deemed  it  necessary  to 
violate  all  di-amatic  probabilities  by  making  the  Persian  king 
and  courtiers  continually  speak  of  themselves  as  barbarians. 
Socrates,  indeed,  had  proclaimed  himself  a  citizen  of  the 
world,^  but  Aristotle  taught  that  Greeks  had  no  more  duties 
to  barbarians  than  to  wild  beasts,  and  another  philosopher 
was  believed  to  have  evinced  an  almost  excessive  range  of 
sympathy  when  he  declared  that  his  affections  extended  be- 
yond his  own  State,  and  included  the  whole  people  of  Greece. 
But  the  dissolving  and  disintegi-ating  philosophical  discussions 
that  soon  followed  the  death  of  Socrates,  strengthened  by 
political  events,  tended  powerfully  to  destroy  this  feeling. 
The  traditions  that  attached  Greek  philosophy  to  Egypt,  the 
subsequent  admiration  for  the  schools  of  India  to  which 
Pyrrho  and  Anaxarchus  are  said  to  have  resorted,^  the  pre- 
valence of  Cynicism  and  Epicureanism,  which  agreed  in  incul- 
cating indifference  to  political  life,  the  complete  decomposi- 
tion of  the  popular  national  religions,  and  the  incompatibility 
of  a  narrow  local  feeling  with  great  knowledge  and  matured 
civilisation,  were  the  intellectual  causes  of  the  change,  and 
the  movement  of  expansion  received  a  gi-eat  political  stimulus 
when  Alexander  eclipsed  the  glories  of  Spartan  and  Athenian 
history  by  the  vision  of  universal  empire,  accorded  to  the 
conquered   nations   the    privileges   of  the   conquerors,   and 


'  Herodotus,  vi.  21.  was   a   tradition    that  Pythagoras 

2  See   Arrian's    Epktetus,  i.  9.  had   himself  penetrated  to  India, 

Tli3  very  existence   of   the   word  and   learnt    philosophy  from   the 

piKavdpontia  shows  that  the  idea  was  ^ymnosophists.     (^Apuleiiis,  Florid 

BOt  ahog  ther  unknown.  lib.  ii.  c.  15.) 

*  Diog.  Laert.  Pyrrho.      There 


230  HISTORY   OF   EUROPEAN   MORALS. 

create!  in  Alexandria  a  great  centre  both  of  commercial  inter- 
course and  of  philosophical  eclecticism.^ 

It  is  evident,  thei^efore,  that  the  pre^'alence  of  Greek  ideas 
in  Rome  would  be  in  a  two-fold  way  destructive  of  narrow 
national  feelings.  It  was  the  ascendancy  of  a  people  who 
were  not  Komans,  and  of  a  people  who  had  already  become 
in  a  great  degi-ee  emancipated  from  local  sentiments.  It  is 
also  evident  that  the  Greeks  having  had  for  several  centuries 
a  splendid  literature,  at  a  time  when  the  Romans  had  none, 
and  when  the  Latin  language  was  still  too  rude  for  literary 
pui-pose.^,  the  period  in  which  the  Romans  first  emerged  from 
a  purely  military  condition  into  an  intelligent  civilisation 
would  bring  with  it  an  ascendancy  of  Greek  ideas.  Fabius 
Pictor  and  Cincius  Alimentus,  the  earliest  native  Roman  his- 
torians, both  wrote  in  Greek,^  and  although  the  poems  of 
Ennius,  and  the  'Origines'  of  Marcus  Cato,  contributed 
largely  to  improve  and  fix  the  Latin  language,  the  precedent 
was  not  at  once  discontinued.^  After  the  conquest  of  Greece, 
the  political  ascendancy  of  the  Romans  and  the  intellectual 
ascendancy  of  Greece  were  alike  universal.^     The  conquered 

*  This  aspoct  of  the  career  of  translation  of  Plutarch  I  have  bor- 

Alexander  was   noticed   in    a   re-  rowed)    On  the  Conversion   of  the 

niarkable    passage   of    a    treatise  Boman  Empire. 
ascribed    to    Pliaarch    {Be    Fort.  -  They  were  both   born  about 

Alex.).     'Conceiving   he  was  sent  B.C.  250.     See  Sir  C.  Lewis,  Credi- 

by  Gol  to  be  an  empire  between  biliti/   of  Early   Boman    History, 

all,  and  to  unite  all  together,  he  vol.  i.  p.  82. 

reduced  by  arms  those  whom   he  ^  Aulus   Gellius   mentions  the 

could  not  conquer  by  persuasion,  iudignat'on  of  Marcus  Cato  against 

and  formed  of  a  huudred  di^  erse  a  consul  named  Albinus,  who  had 

nations  one  single  universal  body,  written  in  Greek  a  Eoman  history, 

mii:gling,  as  it  were,  in  one  sup  of  and  prefaced  it  by  an  apology  for 

friendship  the  customs,  m?.'riages,  his  faults  of  style,  on  the  ground 

and  liws  of  all.     He  deoiivd  that  that  ho  was  writing  in  a  foreign 

all  should  regard  the  -uhole  world  language.     {}\^oct  Att.  xi.  8.) 
as  th<ir  common  country,  .  .  .that  ■'See   a   vivii    picture   of  tho 

every  good  man  should  be  esteemed  Greek    influence    upon    Eome,    in 

a  Hellene,   every  evil  man  a  bar-  Mommsen's   Hist,  of  Rome   (Eng, 

barian.'     See  on  this  subject  the  trans.),  vol.  iii.  pp.  423-'i26. 
thirdlecture  of  Mr.  Merivale  (whose 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  231 

people,  wliose  patriotic  fee'ings  had  been  greatly  enfeebled  by 
the  influences  I  have  noticed,  acquiesced  readily  in  their  new 
condition,  and  notwithstanding  the  vehement  exertions  of  the 
conservative  party,  Greek  manners,  sentiments,  and  ideas 
soon  penetrated  into  all  classes,  and  moulded  all  the  forms  of 
Roman  life.  The  elder  Cato,  as  an  acute  observer  has 
noticed,  desired  all  Greek  philosophers  to  be  expelled  from 
Home.  The  younger  Cato  made  Greek  philosophers  his  most 
intimate  friends.'  Koman  virtue  found  its  highest  expression 
in  Stoicism.  Eoman  vice  sheltered  itself  under  the  name  of 
Epicurus.  Diodorus  of  Sicily  and  Polybius  first  sketched  in 
Greek  the  outlines  of  universal  history.  Dionysius  of  Hali- 
carnassus  explored  Roman  antiquities.  Greek  artists  and 
Greek  architects  thronged  the  city;  but  the  first,  under 
Roman  influence,  ab:mdoned  the  ideal  for  the  portrait,  and 
the  second  degraded  the  noble  Corintliian  pillar  into  the  bas- 
tard composite.2  The  theatre,  which  now  started  into  sudden 
life,  was  borrowed  altogether  from  the  Greeks.  Ennius  and 
Pacuvius  imitated  Euripides;  Csecilius,  Plautus,  Terence, 
and  Kaevius  devoted  themselves  chiefly  to  Menander.  Even 
the  lover  in  the  days  of  Lucretius  painted  his  ]ady's  charms 
in  Greek.  3  Immense  sums  were  given  for  Greek  literary 
slaves,  and  the  attractions  of  the  capital  drew  to  Rome  nearly 
all  that  was  brilliant  in  Athenian  society. 

While  the  complete  ascendancy  of  the  intellect  and 
manners  of  Greece  was  destroying  the  simplicity  of  the  old 
Roman  type,  and  at  the  same  time  enlarging  the  rano-e  of 


»  PHn.  Hist.  Nat.  vii.  31.  nal,  more  than  a   hundred   jenrs 

2  See  Friedlsender,    Mceurs  ro-  later,   was    extremely   anory  with 

tnaines  du  regne  d'Avguste  a  la  fin  the  Roman  ladies  for  miikiiig  lova 

des  Antomns  (French  trans.,  1865),  in  Greek  {Sat.  vi.  lines  190-195). 

tome  i.  pp.  6-7.  Friedlsender  remarks  that  there  is 

2  See  the  curious  catalogue  of  no  special  term  in  Latin  fur  to  ask 

Greek  love  terms  in  vogue  (Lucre-  in  marriage  (tome  i.  p.  354V 

tius,  lib.  IV.  line  1160,  &c,).    Juve- 


232  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

Roman  sympathies,  an  equally  powerful  influence  was  break- 
ing down  the  aristocratic  and  class  feeling  which  had  so  long 
raised  an  insurmountable  barrier  between  the  nobles  and  the 
plebeians.  Theii'  long  contentions  had  issued  in  the  civil 
wars,  the  dictatorship  of  Julius  Csesar,  and  the  Empire,  and 
these  changes  in  a  great  measure  obliterated  the  old  lines  of 
demarcation.  Foreign  wars,  which  develop  with  great  inten- 
sity distinctive  national  types,  and  divert  the  public  mind 
from  internal  changes,  are  usually  favouj-abie  to  the  conser- 
vative spirit ;  but  civil  wars  are  essentially  revolutionary,  for 
they  overwhelm  all  class  barriers  and  throw  open  the  highest 
prizes  to  energy  and  genius.  Two  very  remarkable  and  alto- 
gether unprecedented  illustrations  of  this  truth  occurred  at 
Rome.  Ventidius  Bassus,  by  his  military  skill,  and  by  the 
friendship  of  Julius  Csesar,  and  afterwards  of  Antony,  rose 
from  the  position  of  mule-driver  to  the  command  of  a  Roman 
ai-my,  and  at  last  to  the  consulate,'  which  was  also  attained, 
about  40  B.C.,  by  the  Spaniard  Cornelius  Balbus.^  Augustus, 
though  the  most  aristocratic  of  emperors,  in  order  to  dis- 
coiu-age  celibacy,  permitted  all  citizens  who  were  not  senators 
to  intermarry  with  freedwomen.  The  empire  was  in  several 
distinct  ways  unfavourable  to  class  distinctions.  It  was  for 
the  most  part  essentially  democratic,  wimring  its  popularity 
from  the  masses  of  the  people,  and  crushing  the  senate,  which 
had  been  the  common  centre  of  aristocracy  and  of  freedom. 
A  new  despotic  power,  bearing  alike  on  all  classes,  reduced 
thom  to  an  equality  of  servitude.  The  emperors  were  them- 
selves in  many  cases  the  mere  creatures  of  revolt,  and  their 
policy  was  governed  by  theii'  origin.     Theii*  jealousy  struck 


^  Aul.  Gell.  Noct.  XV.  4  ;    Yell,  low  positions  to  power  and  dignity. 

Palerculus,  ii.  65.    The  people  were  in  Lugeudre,    Trar.c  dc  V Opinion^ 

much  scandaliseil  at  this  elevation,  tome  ii.  pp.  254-255. 
and  made  epigrams  about  it.   There  '^  Dion  Cassius,  xlviii.  32.    Plia 

is  a  curious  catalogue  of  men  who  Hist.  Nat.  r.  5  ;  vii.  44. 
at  different  ti  aies  rose  in  Kome  from 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  233 

do^vvTi  many  of  the  nobles,  while  others  were  ruined  l)y  tlie 
public  games,  which  it  became  customary  to  give,  or  by  the 
hixury  to  which,  in  the  absence  of  political  occupations,  they 
were  impelled,  and  the  relative  importance  of  all  was  di- 
minished by  the  new  creations.  The  ascendancy  of  wealth 
began  to  pass  into  new  quarters.  Delators,  or  political  in- 
formers, encouraged  by  the  emperors,  and  enriched  by  the 
confiscated  properties  of  those  whose  condemnation  they  had 
procui-ed,  rose  to  great  influence.  From  the  time  of  Caligula, 
for  several  reigns,  the  most  influential  citL'ens  were  freedmen. 
who  occupied  the  principal  offices  in  the  ])alace,  and  usually 
obtained  complete  ascendancy  ovei-  the  emi)orors.  Through 
them  alone  petitions  were  jtresente.!.  By  their  instrumental- 
ity the  Imperial  favours  v/ere  distributed.  They  sometimes 
dethroned  the  emperors.  They  retained  their  power  un- 
shaken through  a  succession  of  revolutions.  In  wealth,  in 
power,  in  the  crowd  of  their  courtiers,  in  the  splendour  of 
their  palaces  in  life,  and  of  their  tombs  in  death,  they  eclipsed 
all  others,  and  men  whom  the  early  Roman  patricians  would 
have  almost  disdained  to  notice,  saw  the  proudest  struggling 
for  theii'  favour.* 

Together  with  these  influences  many  others  of  a  kindred 
nature  may  be  detected.  The  colonial  policy  which  the 
Gracchi  had  advocated  was  carried  out  at  Narbonne,  and 
during  the  latter  days  of  Julius  Caesar,  to  the  amazement  and 
scandal  of  the  Romans,  Gau^s  of  this  province  obtained  seats 
in  the  senate.^  The  immense  extent  of  the  empire  made  it 
necessary  for  numerous  troo])s  to  remain  during  long  periods 
of  time  in  distant  provinces,  and  the  foreign  habits  that  were 
thus  acquired  began  the  destruction  of  the  exclusive  feeling,? 
cf  the   Roman   army,  which  the  subsequent   enrolment   ol 

^  The  history  of  the  influence  tome  i.   pp.  .'iS-OS.      Statins   atd 

of  freedmen  is  minutely  traced  by  Martial  sang  their  praises. 
Friedlsender,   Mmirs  romaines  du  '^  See  Tacit.  ^?i?i.  yi.  23- 26. 

r^g7ie  d'AuqustealaJin  desAntonins, 

17 


234  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAL^. 

barbarians  completed.  The  public  games,  the  immense  luxury, 
the  concentration  of  power,  wealth,  and  genius,  made  Rome 
the  centre  of  a  vast  and  ceaseless  concourse  of  strangers,  the 
focus  of  all  the  various  philosophies  and  religions  of  the  em- 
pire, and  its  population  soon  became  an  amorphous,  hetero- 
geneous mass,  in  which  all  nations,  customs,  languages,  and 
creeds,  all  degrees  of  virtue  and  Tice,  of  refinement  and  bar- 
barism, of  scepticism  and  credulity,  intermingled  and  inter- 
acted. Travelling  had  become  more  easy  and  perhaps 
more  frequent  than  it  has  been  at  any  other  peiiod  before 
the  nineteenth  century.  The  subjection  of  the  whole  civi- 
lised world  to  a  single  rule  removed  the  chief  obstacles  to 
locomotion.  Magnificent  roads,  which  modern  nations  have 
rarely  rivalled  and  never  surpassed,  intersected  the  entire 
empire,  and  relays  of  post-horses  enabled  the  voyager  to  pro- 
ceed with  an  astonishing  rapidity.  The  sea,  which,  after  the 
destruction  of  the  fleets  of  Carthage,  had  fallen  almost  com- 
pletely under  the  dominion  of  pii'ates.  had  been  cleared  by 
Pompey.  The  European  shores  of  the  Mediterranean  and  the 
port  of  Alexandria  were  thronged  with  vessels.  Romans 
traversed  the  whole  extent  of  the  empire  on  political,  militai-y, 
or  commercial  errands,  or  in  search  of  health,  or  knowledge, 
or  pleasure.  ^  The  entrancing  beauties  of  Como  and  of  Tempe, 
the  luxurious  manners  of  Baiog  and  Corinth,  the  schools, 
commerce,  climate,  and  temples  of  Alexandria,  the  soft  winters 
of  Sicily,  the  artistic  wonders  and  historic  recollections  of 
Athens  and  the  Nile,  the  great  colonial  interests  of  Gaul, 
attracted  their  thousands,  while  Roman  luxury  needed  the 
products  of  the  remotest  lands,  an-d  the  demand  for  animals 
for  the  amphitheatre  spread  Roman  enterprise  into  the  wildest 
deserts.  In  the  capital,  the  toleration  accorded  to  difierent 
cit^ds  was  such  that  the  city  soon  became  a  miniature  of  the 


'  On  the  Roman  journeys,  see  the  almost  exhaustive    dissertation 
af  Friedlaender,  trme  ii 


THE    TAGAN    EMPIRE.  235 

world.  Almost  every  variety  of  charlatcanism  and  of  belief 
displayed  itself  imcliecked,  and  boasted  its  train  of  proselytes. 
Foreign  ideas  were  in  every  form  in  the  ascendant.  Greece. 
which  had  presided  over  the  intellectual  development  of 
Rome,  acquired  a  new  ini3iience  under  the  favouring  policy 
of  Hadrian,  and  Greek  became  the  language  of  some  of  the 
later  as  it  had  been  of  the  earliest  writers.  Egyptian  religioiis 
and  philosophies  excited  the  wildest  enthusiasm.  As  early  as 
the  reign  of  Augustus  there  were  many  thousands  of  Jewish 
residents  at  Rome/  and  their  manners  and  creed  spread  widely 
among  the  people.^  The  Carthaginian  Apuleius,^  the  Gauls 
Florus  and  Favorinus,  the  Spaniards  Lucan,  Columella, 
Martial,  Seneca,  and  Quintilian,  had  all  in  their  different  de- 
partments a  high  place  in  Roman  literatui-e  or  philosophy. 

In  the  slave  world  a  corresponding  revolution  was  taking 
place.  The  lai-ge  proportion  of  physicians  and  sculptoi-s  who 
were  slaves,  the  appearance  of  three  or  four  distinguished 
authors  in  the  slave  class,  the  numerous  literary  slaves  im- 
ported from  Greece,  and  the  splendid  examples  of  courage, 
endurance,  and  devotion  to  their  masters  furnished  by  slaves 
during  the  civil  wars,  and  during  some  of  the  worst  periods 
of  the  Empire,  were  bridging  the  chasm  between  the  servile 
and  the  free  classes,  and  the  same  tendency  was  more  power- 
fully stimulated  by  the  vast  numbers  and  overwhelming  in- 
fluence of  the  freedmen.     The  enormous  scale  and  frequent 


'  Joseph.  {Adiq.  xvii.  11,  §  1)  recepta  sit:  victi  vietoribns  logess 

Bays  above  8.000  Jews  resident  in  dederunt.'      There   are   numerous 

Komo  took  part  in  a  petition  to  scattered  allusions  to  the  Jews  in 

Csesar.      If   these  were    all    adult  Horace,  Juvenal,  and  Martial, 

males,  the  total  number  of  Jewish  ^  The  Carthaginian  influence  was 

residents  must  have  been  extremely  specially    conspicuous     in      early 

large.  Christian  history,    lertullian  aud 

-  See  the  famous  fragment  of  Cyprian  (both  Africans)  are  justly 

Seneca  cited  by  SL  Augustin  {De  regarded  as  the  founders  of  -Latin 

Ciu.  Dei,  \\.  11):  '  Usque  eo  scele-  theology.      (See    Mdman's    Latin 

Mtissimae  gentis   consuetudo  con-  Christianity  (ed.  1867),  vol.  i.  pp 

»aluit,  ut   per   oanes   jam   terras  35-36. j 


23 H  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

ductuaticns  of  the  gi-eat  Roman  establishments,  and  the  innu- 
merable captives  reduced  to  slavery  after  every  war,  rendered 
manumission  both  frequent  and  easy,  and  it  was  soon  re- 
gaided  as  a  normal  result  of  faithful  service.  Many  slave? 
bought  their  freedom  out  of  the  savings  which  their  mastei-s 
always  permitted  them  to  make.  Others  paid  for  it  by  their 
labour  after  their  emancipation.  Some  masters  emancipated 
thciir  slaves  in  order  to  obtain  their  part  in  the  distribution 
of  corn,  others  to  prevent  the  discovery  of  their  own  crimes 
by  the  tort  ire  of  theii-  s'aves,  others  through  vanity,  being 
desii'ous  of  having  their  funerals  attended  by  a  long  train  of 
freedmen,  very  many  simply  as  a  reward  for  long  ser^^ce.  ^ 
The  freedman  was  still  unier  what  was  termed  the  patronage 
of  his  former  master ;  he  was  bound  to  him  by  what  in  a 
later  age  would  have  been  called  a  feudal  tie,  and  the  political 
and  social  importance  of  a  noble  depended  in  a  very  great 
degree  upon  the  multitude  of  his  clients.  The  children  of 
the  emancipated  slave  were  in  the  same  relation  to  the  patron, 
and  it  was  only  in  the  third  generation  that  all  disqualifica- 
tions and  restraints  were  abrogated.  In  consequence  of  this 
system,  manumission  was  often  the  interest  of  the  master. 
In  the  course  of  his  life  he  enfranchised  individual  slaves. 
On  h's  death- bed  or  by  his  will  he  constantly  emancipated 
multitudes.  Emancipation  by  testament  acquired  such  dimen- 
sions, that  Augustus  found  il  necessary  to  restrict  the  power  ; 
and  he  made  several  limitations,  of  which  the  most  important 
was  that  no  one  should  emancipate  by  his  will  more  than  one 
hundred  of  his  slaves.^  It  was  once  proposed  that  the  slaves 
should  be  distinguished  by  a  special  dress,  but  the  proposition 
was  abandoned  because  theii*  number  was  so  sfreat  that  to 


'  Mile   had  emancipated   some  ment  are  given  by  Dion.  Halicarn. 

slaves  to  prevent  them  from  being  Antiq.  lib.  iv. 

tortured  as   witnesses.     (Cic.    Pro  -  This  subject  is   fully  treated 

Milo.)      This   was    made    illegal.  hyWnWou,  Hist,  del' Enclavaffe dam 

The  other  reasons  for  enfranchise-  rAfitiqnitS. 


TIIE   PAGAN    EMPIRE.  2S7 

reveal  to  them  theii*  strength  would  be  to  place  the  city  at 
theii*  mercy.  •  Even  among  those  who  were  not  slaves,  the 
element  that  was  derived  from  slavery  soon  preponderated. 
The  majority  of  the  free  population  had  probably  either  them- 
selves been  slaves,  or  were  descended  from  slaves,  and  mcu 
with  this  tainted  lineage  penetrated  to  all  the  offices  of  the 
i^tate.^  '  There  was,'  as  has  been  well  said,  '  a  circulation  of 
men  from  all  the  universe.  Rome  received  them  slaves,  and 
sent  them  back  Eomans.'^ 

It  is  manifest  how  profound  a  change  had  taken  place 
since  the  Republican  days,  when  the  highest  dignities  were 
long  monopolised  by  a  single  class,  when  the  censors  re- 
pressed with  a  stringent  severity  every  form  or  exhibition  of 
luxiuy,  when  the  rhetoricians  were  banished  from  the  city, 
lest  the  faintest  tinge  of  foreign  manners  should  impair  the 
stern  simplicity  of  the  people,  and  when  the  proposal  to 
transfer  the  capital  to  Yeii,  after  a  great  disaster,  was  rejected 
on  the  groiuid  that  it  would  be  impious  to  worship  the  Roman 
deities  anywhere  but  on  the  Capitol,  or  for  the  Flamens  and 
the  Vestals  to  emigrate  beyond  the  walls."* 

The  greater  number  of  these  tendencies  to  universal  fusion 
or  equality  were  blind  forces  i-esulting  from  the  sti-ess  of  cir- 
cumstances, and  not  from  any  human  forethought,  or  were 
agencies  that  were  put  in  motion  for  a  different  object.  It 
must,  however,  be  acknowledged  that  a  definite  theory  of 
policy  had  a  considerable  part  in  accelerating  the  movement. 
The  policy  of  the  Republic  may  be  broadly  described  as  a 
policy  of  conquest,  and  that  of  the  Empire  as  a  policy  of  pre- 
servation. The  Romans  having  acquired  a  vast  dominion, 
were  met  by  the  great  problem  which  every  first-class  power 
is  called  upon  to  solve — by  what  means  many  communities, 


'  Senec.  Be  Clemen,  i.  24.  ^  Montef^qnicu,    Decadence    des 

See,  on   the   prominence   and  lioviaws,  ch.  xiii. 

the  insolence  ol  the  frecdmen,  Tacit  ■'.See  tlie  very  curious  speech 

Annul,  iii.  26-27.  attributed  to  CamiUub  (Livy,  v.  62) 


238  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

with  difierent  languages,  customs,  characters,  and  traditions, 
"an  be  retained  peaceably  under  a  single  ruler.  In  modern 
times,  this  difficulty  has  been  most  successfully  met  by  local 
legislatures,  which,  if  they  supply  a  'line  of  cleavage,'  a 
nucleus  around  which  the  spii'it  of  opposition  may  form,  have 
m  the  other  hand  the  priceless  advantage  of  giving  the  an- 
nexed people  a  large  measure  of  self-government,  a  centre 
and  safety-valve  of  local  public  opinion,  a  sphere  for  local 
ambitions,  and  a  hierarchy  of  institutions  adapted  to  the  dis- 
tinctive national  type.  Under  no  other  conditions  can  a 
complex  empire  be  carried  on  with  so  little  strain,  or  effort, 
01-  humiliation,  or  its  inevitable  final  dissolution  be  effected 
with  so  little  danger  or  convulsion.  But  local  legislatures, 
which  are  the  especial  glory  of  English  statesmanship,  belong 
excliLsively  to  modern  civilisation.  The  Roman  method  of 
conciliation  was,  fii-st  of  all,  the  most  ample  toleration  of  the 
customs,  religion,  and  municipal  freedom  of  the  conquered, 
and  then  then*  gradual  admission  to  the  privileges  of  the 
conqueror.  By  confiding  to  them  in  a  great  measure  the 
defence  of  the  empii-e,  by  throwing  open  to  them  the  offices 
of  State,  and  especially  by  according  to  them  the  right  of 
Roman  citizenship,  which  had  been  for  centuries  jealously 
restricted  to  the  inhabitants  of  Rome,  and  was  afterwards 
on^y  conceded  to  Italy  and  Cisalpine  Gaul,  the  emperors 
sought  to  attach  them  to  their  throne.  The  process  was  very 
gi-adual,  but  the  whole  movement  of  poUtical  emancipation 
attained  its  completion  when  the  Imperial  thi'one  was  occu- 
pied by  the  Spaniard  Trajan,  and  by  Pertinax,  the  son  of  a 
freedman,  and  when  an  edict  of  Caracalla  extended  the  righta 
of  Roman  citizenship  to  all  the  provinces  of  the  empire. 

It  will  appear  evident,  from  the  foregoing  sketch,  that 
the  period  wMch  elapsed  between  Pansetius  and  Constantine 
exhibited  an  irresistible  tendency  to  cosmopolitanism.  The 
convergence,  when  we  consider  the  number,  force,  and  har- 
mony of  the  influences  that  composed  it,  is  indeed  unexampled 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  239 

ui  histoiy.  The  movement  extended  tlaroiigh  all  the  fields  of 
religious,  philosophical,  political,  industrial,  military,  and  do- 
mestic life.  The  character  of  the  people  was  completely  trans- 
formed, the  landmarks  of  all  its  institutions  were  removed, 
the  whole  principle  of  its  organisation  was  reversed.  It  would 
l;)e  impossible  to  find  a  more  striking  example  of  the  mannoT 
in  which  events  govern  character,  destroying  old  habits  and 
associations,  and  thus  altering  that  natic»nal  type  of  excellence 
which  is,  for  che  most  part,  the  expression  or  net  moral  result 
of  the  national  institutions  and  ciicumstances.  The  effect  of 
the  movement  was,  no  doubt,  in  many  respects  evil,  and  some 
of  the  best  men,  such  as  the  elder  Cato  and  Tacitus,  opposed 
it,  as  leading  to  the  demoralisation  of  the  empire ;  but  if  it 
increased  vice,  it  also  gave  a  peculiar  character  to  virtue.  It 
v^'as  impossible  that  the  conception  of  excellence,  formed  in  a 
society  where  .everything  conspired  to  deepen  class  divisions 
and  national  jealousies  and  antipathies,  should  be  retained 
unaltered  in  a  period  of  universal  intercourse  and  amalgama- 
tion. The  moral  expression  of  the  first  period  is  obviously 
to  be  foimd  in  the  narrower  military  and  patriotic  virtues ; 
that  of  the  second  period  in  enlarged  philanthropy  and 
sympathy. 

The  Stoical  philosophy  was  admirably  fitted  to  preside  over 
this  extension  of  sympathies.  Although  it  proved  itself  in 
every  age  the  chief  school  of  patriots,  it  recognised  also,  from 
the  very  first,  and  in  the  most  unequivocal  manner,  the  fra- 
ternity of  mankind.  The  Stoic  taught  that  vii-tue  alone  is  a 
good,  and  that  all  other  things  are  indifierent ;  and  from  this 
position  he  inferred  that  birth,  rank,  country,  or  wea'th  are 
the  mere  accidents  of  life,  and  that  vii-tue  alone  makes  one 
man  superior  to  another.  He  taught  also  that  the  Deity  is 
an  all-pervading  Spirit,  animating  the  universe,  and  revealed 
with  especial  clearness  in  the  soul  of  man ;  and  he  concluded 
that  all  men  are  fellow-members  of  a  single  body,  united  by 
participation  in  the  same  Divine  Spiiit.     These  two  doctrines 


240  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

formed  pai't  of  the  very  first  teaching  of  the  Stoics,  mi  it  waa 
the  special  glory  of  the  Roman  teachers,  and  an  obvious  result 
of  the  condition  of  affaii's  I  have  described,  to  have  brought 
them  into  full  relief.  One  of  the  most  emphatic  as  well  as 
one  of  the  earliest  extant  assertions  of  the  duty  of  '  charity  to 
vhe  human  race,'  ^  occui's  in  the  treatise  of  Cicero  upon  duties, 
which  was  avowedly  based  upon  Stoicism.  Writing  at  a 
period  when  the  movement  of  amalgamation  had  for  a  genera- 
tion been  rapidly  proceeding,  ^  and  adopting  almost  without 
restriction  the  ethics  of  the  Stoics,  Cicero  maintained  the 
doctrine  of  universal  brotherhood  as  distinctly  as  it  was  after- 
wards maintained  by  the  Christian  Church.  '  This  whole 
world,'  he  tells  us,  *  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  common  city  of 
gods  and  men.'^  '  Men  were  born  for  the  sake  of  men,  that 
each  should  assist  the  others.'"*  '  Nature  ordains  that  a  man 
should  wish  the  good  of  every  man,  whoever  he  may  be,  for 
this  very  reason,  that  he  is  a  man.'  ^  '  To  reduce  man  to  the 
duties  of  his  o^\ti  city  and  to  dlsengnge  him  from  duties  to 
the  members  of  other  cities,  is  to  break  the  imiversal  society 
of  the  human  race.'^  '  IS'ature  has  inclined  us  to  love  men, 
and  this  is  the  foundation  of  the  law.'-^  The  same  principles 
were  reiterated  with  inci-easing  emphasis  by  the  later  Stoics. 
Adopting  the  well-known  line  which  Terence  had  translated 
from  ^Menander,  they  maintained  that  man  should  deem 
nothing  human  foreign  to  his  interest.  Lucan  expatiated 
with  all  the  fei-vom*  of  a  Christian  poet  upon  the  time  when 
*  the  human  race  will  cast  aside  its  weapons,  and  when  all 
nations  will    learn  to  love.'®      *  The  who'e   miiverse,'  said 


'  '  Caritas  generis  humani.' — De  ®  De  Offic.  iii.  6. 

Finih.     So,  too,  he  speaks  {De  L'q.  '  Be  Legib.  i.  15. 
i.  23)  of  every  good  man  as  '  civis 

totius  luiindi.'  *  '  Tunc  genus  humanum  posilia 

*  He  speaks  of  Rome  as  'civitas  sibi  consulat  armis, 

ex  nationum  conventu  constituta.'  Inquevicemgensomnisaraet.' 

^  De  Lcgib.  i.  7.       *  De  Offic.  — Pharsalia,\i. 

»  Ibid.  iii.  6. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  241 

Seneca,  *  which  you  see  aroimd  you,  comprising  all  things, 
both  divine  and  human,  is  one.  We  a.re  members  of  one 
great  body.  Nature  has  made  us  i-e^atives  when  it  begat  us 
from  the  same  materials  and  for  the  same  destinies.  Slie 
planted  in  us  a  mutual  love,  and  fitted  us  for  a  social  life.'  ^ 
*  What  is  a  Eoman  knight,  or  fieedman,  or  slave  ]  These  are 
but  n:vmes  springing  fi'om  ambition  or  from  injury.' ^  'I 
know  that  my  country  is  the  world,  and  my  guardians  are 
the  gods,'  ^  '  You  ai-e  a  citizen,'  said  Epictetus,  '  and  a  part 
of  the  world.  .  .  .  The  duty  of  a  citizen  is  in  nothing  to  con- 
sider Lis  own  interest  distinct  from  that  of  others,  as  the 
hand  or  foot,  if  they  possessed  reason  and  understood  the  law 
of  nature,  would  do  and  wish  nothing  that  had  not  some  rela- 
tion to  the  rest  of  the  body.'"*  'An  Antonine,'  said  Marcus 
Aurelius,  '  my  country  is  Rome  ;  as  a  man,  it  is  the  world.' ^ 

So  far  Stoicism  appears  fully  equal  to  the  moral  requii*e- 
ments  of  the  age.  It  would  be  impossible  to  recognise  more 
cordially  or  to  enfoice  more  beautifully  that  doctrine  of  uni- 
versal bi-otherhood  for  which  the  cii-cumstances  of  the  Roman 
Empire  had  made  men  ripe.  Plato  had  said  that  no  one  is 
born  for  himself  alone,  but  that  he  owes  himself  in  part  to 
his  country,  in  part  to  his  parents,  and  in  part  to  his  friends. 
The  Roman  Stoics,  taking  a  wider  survey,  declared  that  man 
is  born  not  for  himself  but  for  the  whole  world. ^  And  their 
doctrine  was  perfectly  consistent  with  the  original  principles 
of  theii'  school. 

But  while  Stoicism  was  quite  capable  of  representing  the 
widening  movement,  it  was  not  equally  capable  of  represent- 
uiof  the  sof telling  movement  of  civilisation.  Its  condemnation 


Ep.  xcr.  Se 'ta    fuit,  servare    modum, 

*  Ep.  xxxi,  finemque  tenere, 

*  De  Vita  Bcato   xx.  Naturamque  sequi,  patriaeque 
'  Arrian,  ii.  JO.  impendere  vitam, 

»  vi.  44.  Nee  sibi  sed  toti  genitura  se 

credere  mundo.' 

*  '  Usee  duri  immota  Catonis  hvLC.m,P/iars.  ii.  380-383. 


242  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

of  the  aftections,  and  its  stern,  tense  ideal,  admirably  fitted 
for  the  struggles  of  a  simple  military  age,  were  iinsiiited  for 
the  mild  manners  and  xuximous  tastes  of  the  age  of  the 
Antonjjies.  A  class  of  writers  began  to  arise  "«  ho,  like  tlio 
Stoics,  believed  ATrtne,  rather  than  enjoyment,  to  be  the 
aiipreme  good,  and  who  acknowledged  that  virtue  consisted 
so'e'y  of  the  control  vrhich  the  enlightened  will  exercises 
over  the  desires,  but  who  at  the  same  time  gave  free  scope  to 
the  benevolent  affections  and  a  more  religious  and  mystical 
tone  to  the  who"'e  scheme  of  moi-als.  Professing  various 
speculative  doctrines,  and  calling  themselves  by  many  names 
— eclectics,  peripatetics,  or  Platonists  —they  agi-eed  in  form- 
ing or  i-epresenting  a  moral  chai^acter,  less  strong,  less  sublime, 
less  capable  of  endurance  and  heroism,  less  conspicuous  for 
energy  of  will,  than  that  of  the  Stoics,  but  far  more  tender 
and  attractive.  The  vii-tues  of  force  began  to  recede,  and  the 
gentler  virtues  to  advance,  in  the  moral  tv[De.  Insensibility 
to  suffeiing  was  no  longer  professed ;  indomitable  strength 
was  no  longer  idolised,  and  it  was  felt  that  weakness  and 
sorrow  have  their  own  appropriate  "vdrtuesJ  The  works  of 
these  writers  are  full  of  delicate  touches  which  nothing  but 
strong  and  lively  feelings  could  have  suggested.  We  find  this 
in  the  well-known  letter  of  PKny  on  the  death  of  his  slaves,^ 
in  the  frequent  protests  against  the  ostentation  of  indifference 
witl\  which  the  Stoics  regarded  the  loss  of  their  friends,  in 
many  instances  of  simple,  ai-tless  pathos,  which  strike  the 
finest  chords  of  our  nature.  When  Plutarch,  after  the  death 
of  his  daughter,  was  writing  a  letter  of  consolation  to  his  ^^dfe, 


'There  is  a   passage   on   this  aut  libido  solioitat?  X^m  amoiiljus 

ST  bjeet   in    oi  e   of  the  letters    of  servit,    non    appetit    honoi-es     .  . 

Pliny,  which  I  think  extremely  re-  tunc   decs,  tunc  hominem  esse  Be 

markable,  and  to  wliich  I  can  recall  meminit,' — Plin.  Ep.  vii,  26. 
DO  pagan   parallel  : — '  Nuper  me  -  Ep.xVu.lQ.  He  says  :  '  Homi- 

cujusdam  amici  languor  admonuit,  nis  est  enim  affici  dolore,  s<='ntiro, 

optimos  esse  nosdum infirmi  sumus.  resistere  tamen,  et solatia admittero, 

Quera  enim  infirrauni  aut  avaritia  non  solatiis  non  egere.' 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  243 

re  find  him  turnbig  away  from  all  the  commonplaces  of  ihe 
Stoics  as  the  recollection  of  one  simple  trait  of  his  little  child 
rushed  upon  his  mind  : — '  She  desired  her  nurse  to  press 
even  her  dolls  to  the  breast.  She  was  so  loving  that  she 
M'ished  everything  that  gave  her  pleasure  to  share  in  the  best 
of  what  she  had.' 

Plutarch,  whose  fame  as  a  biographer  has,  I  think,  imduly 
eclipsed  his  reputation  as  a  moralist,  may  be  justly  regarded 
as  the  leader  of  this  movement,  and  his  moral  writings  may 
be  profitably  compared  with  those  of  Seneca,  the  most  ample 
exponent  of  the  sterner  school.  Seneca  is  not  unfrequently 
S3]f-conscious,  theatrical,  and  overstrained.  His  precepts 
have  something  of  the  affected  ring  of  a  popular  preacher.  The 
imperfect  fusion  of  his  short  sentences  gives  his  style  a  dis- 
jointed and,  so  to  speak,  granulated  character,  which  the 
Emperor  Caligula  happily  expressed  when  he  compared  it  to 
sand  without  cement ;  yet  he  often  rises  to  a  majesty  of 
eloquence,  a  grandeur  both  of  thought  and  of  expression,  that 
few  moralists  have  ever  rivalled.  Plutarch,  though  far  less 
sublime,  is  more  susta'ned,  equable,  and  uniformly  pleasing. 
The  Montaigne  of  antiquity,  his  genius  coruscates  playfully 
and  gracefully  around  his  subject ;  he  delights  in  illustrations 
which  are  often  singularly  vivid  and  original,  but  which,  by 
their  excessive  multi]:)licafon,  appear  sometimes  rather  the 
texture  than  the  ornament  of  his  discourse.  A  gentle,  tender 
spirit,  and  a  judgment  equally  fiee  fi-om  paradox,  exaggera- 
tion, and  excessive  subtil ty,  are  the  characteristics  of  all  he 
wrote.  Plutarch  excels  most  in  collecting  motives  of  con- 
solation ;  Seneca  in  forming  characters  that  need  no  conso- 
lation. There  is  something  of  the  woman  in  Plutarch ; 
Seneca  is  all  a  man.  The  writings  of  the  first  resemble  the 
strains  of  the  flute,  to  which  the  ancients  attributed  the 
power  of  calming  the  passions  and  charming  away  the  clouds 
of  sorrow,  and  drawing  men  by  a  gentle  suasion  into  the  paths 
of  \Ti-tiie ;  the  writings  of  the  otiier  are  like  the  trumpet  blast, 


244  HISTOKY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MOEALS. 

which  kindles  the  soul  with  an  heroic  couTage.  The  first  la 
most  fitted  to  console  a  mother  sorrowing  over  her  dead 
child,  the  second  to  nerve  a  brave  man,  without  flinching 
and  without  illusion,  to  gi-apple  with  an  inevitable  fate. 

The  elaborate  letters  which  Seneca  has  left  us  on  distinc- 
tive tenets  of  the  Stoical  school,  such  as  the  equality  of  vice"? 
(»r  the  evil  of  the  affections,  have  now  little  more  than  an 
historic  interest ;  but  the  general  tone  of  his  writings  gives 
them  a  permanent  importance,  for  they  reflect  and  foster  a 
certain  type  of  excellence  which,  since  the  extinction  of 
Stoicism,  has  had  no  adequate  expression  in  literature.  The 
prevailing  moral  tone  of  Plutarch,  on  the  other  hand,  being 
formed  mainly  on  the  prominence  of  the  amiable  vu-tues,  has 
been  eclipsed  or  transcended  by  the  Christian  writers,  but 
his  definite  contributions  to  pliilosophy  and  morals  arc  more 
impoi-tant  than  those  of  Seneca.  He  has  left  us  one  of  the 
best  works  on  superstition,  and  one  of  the  most  ingenious 
works  on  Providence,  we  possess.  He  was  probably  the 
first  writer  who  advocated  very  strongly  humanity  to  animals 
on  the  broad  ground  of  universal  benevolence,  as  distinguished 
from  the  Pythagorean  doctrine  of  transmigration,  and  he  was 
also  remarkable,  beyond  all  liis  contemporaries,  for  his  high 
sense  of  female  excellence  and  of  the  sanctity  of  female  love. 

The  Komans  had  at  all  times  cared  more  for  the  practical 
tendency  of  a  system  of  philosophy  than  for  its  logical  or 
speculative  consistency.  One  of  the  chief  attractions  of  Stoi- 
cism, in  theii-  eyes,  had  been  that  its  main  object  was  not  to 
build  a  system  of  opinion,  but  to  propose  a  pattern  of  life,^ 
and  Stoicism  itself  was  only  adapted  to  the  Poman  character 
after  it  had  been  simplified  by  Panaetius.^  Although  the 
system  could  never  free  itself  altogether  from  that  hardness 
which  rendered  it  so  unsuited  for  an  ad^^anced  civilisation,  it 


'  Tliis  cliaracteristic  of  Stoicism  good  reyieAv  of  the  principles  of  tht 

is  w^U  noticed  in  Grant's  Aristotle,  Stoics. 
rol.  i.  p.  2o4.     The  firstrolume  of  -  Cie.  Be  Fiuib.  lib.  iv 

this  work  cuntaiLS   an   extremely 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRtr.  245 

was  profoundly  modified  by  the  later  Stoics,  ^\ho  rarely 
Bcrujiled  to  temper  it  by  the  admixture  of  new  doctrirses. 
Seneca  himself  was  by  no  means  an  unmixed  Stoic.  1/ 
Epictetus  was  more  nearly  so,  this  was  probably  because  the 
extreme  hardship  he  underwent  made  him  dwell  more  than 
his  contemporaries  upon  the  importance  of  fortitude  and 
endm-ance.  Marcus  Aurelins  was  suiTOunded  by  the  disi- 
ciples  of  the  most  various  schools,  and  his  Stoicism  was  much 
tinctured  by  the  milder  and  more  religious  spirit  of  Pla- 
tonism.  The  Stoics,  like  all  other  men,  felt  the  moral  current 
of  the  time,  though  they  yielded  to  it  less  readily  than  some 
others.  In  Thrasea,  who  occupied  in  his  age  a  position 
analogous  to  that  of  Cato  in  an  earlier  period,  we  find  little 
or  nothing  of  the  asperity  and  hardness  of  his  great  prototype. 
In  the  writings  of  the  later  Stoics,  if  we  find  the  same 
elements  as  in  those  of  their  predecessors,  these  elements  are 
at  least  combined  in  different  proportions. 

In  the  first  place,  Stoicism  became  more  essentially  re- 
ligious. The  Stoical  character,  like  all  others  of  a  high  order, 
had  always  been  reverential ;  but  its  reverence  differed  widely 
from  that  of  Chi\stians.  It  was  concentrated  much  less 
upon  the  Deity  than  upon  virtue,  and  especially  upon 
virtue  as  exhibited  in  great  men.  When  Lucan,  extolling 
his  hero,  boasted  that  '  the  gods  favoured  the  conquering 
cause,  but  Cato  the  conquered,'  or  when  Seneca  described 
'  the  fortune  of  Sulla '  as  '  the  crime  of  the  gods,'  these  sen- 
tences, which  sound  to  modern  ears  grossly  blasj^hemous, 
appear  to  have  excited  no  murmur.  We  have  already  seen 
the  audacious  language  with  which  the  sage  claimed  an 
equality  with  the  Divinity.  On  the  other  hand,  the  reverence 
for  vii'tue  apart  from  all  conditions  of  success,  and  especially 
for  men  of  the  stamp  of  Cato,  who  through  a  strong  moral 
conviction  struggled  bravely,  though  unsuccessfully,  against 
force,  genius,  or  circumstances,  was  perhaps  more  steady  and 
more  passionate  than  in  any  later  age.     The  duty  of  absolute 


246  IIISTORT    OF    EUROrEAN    MOEALS 

submission  to  Providence,  as  I  have  already  shown,  was  con' 
tinually  inculcated,  and  the  pantheistic  notion  of  all  virtue 
being  a  part  or  emanation  of  the  Deity  was  often  asserted, 
but  man  was  still  the  centre  of  the  Stoic's  scheme,  the  idea] 
to  which  his  reverence  and  devotion  aspii^ed.  In  later 
Stoicism  this  point  of  view  was  gradually  changed.  Without 
any  formal  abandonment  of  their  pantheistic  conceptions,  the 
language  of  philosophers  recognised  with  much  greater  clear- 
ness a  distinct  and  personal  Divinity.  Every  page  of  Epic- 
tetus  and  Marcus  Aurelius  is  impregnated  with  the  deepest 
religious  feeliug.  '  The  fu'st  thing  to  learn,'  said  the  former, 
*  is  that  there  is  a  God,  that  His  knowledge  pervades  the 
whole  universe,  and  that  it  extends  not  only  to  our  acts  but 
to  our  thoughts  and  feelings.  .  .  .  He  who  seeks  to  please 
the  gods  must  labour  as  far  as  lies  m  him  to  resemble  them. 
He  must  be  faithful  as  God  is  faithful,  free  as  He  is  free, 
beneficent  as  He  is  beneficent,  magnanimous  as  He  is  magna- 
nimous.' •  *  To  have  God  for  our  maker  and  father  and 
guardian,  should  not  that  emancipate  us  from  all  sadness  and 
from  all  fear?'-  'When  you  have  shut  your  door  and 
darkened  your  room,  say  not  to  yourself  you  are  alone.  God 
is  in  your  i-oom,  and  your  attendant  genius  likewise.  Think 
not  that  they  need  the  light  to  see  what  you  do.^  Wliat  can 
I,  an  old  man  and  a  cripple,  do  but  praise  God  ?  If  I  were 
a  nightingale,  T  would  discharge  the  office  of  a  nightingale ; 
tf  a  swan,  that  of  a  swan.  But  I  am  a  reasonable  being  ; 
my  mission  is  to  praise  God,  and  I  fulfil  it ;  nor  shall  I  ever, 
as  far  as  lies  in  me,  shrink  from  my  task,  and  I  cxliort  you 
to  join  in  the  same  song  of  praise.''* 

The  same  religious  character  is  exhibited,  if  possible, 
in  a  still  greater  degree  in  the  *  Meditations '  of  Marcus 
A.urclius ;  but  in  one  respect  the  ethics  of  the  emperor  dififer 


>  Arrian,  Epici.  ii.  14  '  lh]d.  i.  14. 

2  Ibid.  i.  9.  '  Ibid.  i.  16 


THE    TAGAN    EMriRE.  247 

ividcly  from  those  of  the  slave.  In  Ef)ictetub  we  invariably 
find  the  strongest  sense  of  the  majesty  of  man.  As  the  child 
of  the  Deity,  as  a  being  capable  of  attaining  the  most  exalted 
virtue,  he  magnified  him  to  the  highest  point,  and  never 
more  so  than  in  the  very  passage  in  which  he  exhorted  his 
disciples  to  beware  of  haughtiness.  The  Jupiter  Olympus  of 
Phidias,  he  reminds  them,  exhibits  no  arrogance,  but  the 
unclouded  serenity  of  perfect  confidence  and  strength.^ 
Marcus  Aurelius,  on  the  other  hand,  dwelt  rather  on  the 
weakness  than  on  the  force  of  man,  and  his  meditations 
breathe  a  spirit,  if  not  of  Christian  humility,  at  least  of  the 
gentlest  and  most  touching  modesty.  He  was  not,  it  is  true, 
like  some  later  saiuts,  who  habitually  apply  to  themselves 
language  of  reprobation  which  would  be  exaggerated  if  applied 
to  the  murdeier  or  the  adulterer.  He  did  not  shrink  from 
recognising  human  vii'tue  as  a  reality,  and  thanldng  Pro- 
vidence for  the  degi-ee  in  which  he  had  attained  it,  but  he 
continually  reviewed  with  an  unsparing  severity  the  weak- 
nesses of  his  character,  he  accepted  and  even  solicited  reproofs 
from  every  teacher  of  vii-tue,  he  made  it  his  aim,  in  a  position 
of  supreme  power,  to  check  every  emotion  of  arrogance  and 
pride,  and  he  set  before  him  an  ideal  of  excellence  which 
awed  and  subdued  his  mind. 

Another  very  remarkable  featiu^e  of  later  Stoicism  was  its 
increasingly  introspective  character.  In  the  philosophy  of 
Cato  and  Cicero,  virtue  was  displayed  almost  exclusively  in 
action.  In  the  later  Stoics,  self-examination  and  puiity  of 
thought  were  continually  iuculcated.  There  are  some  wri- 
ters who,  with  an  obstinacy  which  it  is  more  easy  to  explain 
than  to  excuse,  persist,  in  defiance  of  the  very  clearest 
evidence  to  the  contrary,  in  representiug  these  vii^tues  as 
exclusively  Christian,  and  in  maintaining,  without  a  shadow 
of  proofs  that  the  place  they  undeniably  occupy  in  the  kitcT 


Arrian,  ii.  8. 


24  8  HisTOEY  OF  eueopea:;  morals. 

Roman  moralists  was  due  to  the  dii-ect  or  indirect  inHuence 
of  the  new  faith.  The  plain  fact  is  that  they  were  fnll^ 
known  to  the  Greeks,  and.  both  Plato  and  Zeno  even  exhort<?tl 
men  to  study  their  dreams,  on  the  gTound  that  these  oft<3iJ 
reveal  the  latent  tendencies  of  the  disposition.^  Pythagoras 
urged  his  disciples  daily  to  examine  themseh  es  when  they 
retired  to  rest,^  and  this  practice  soon  became  a  recognised 
part  of  the  Pythagorean  discipline.^  It  was  iatroduced  into 
Rome  with  the  school  before  the  close  of  the  Eepublic.  It 
was  known  in  the  time  of  Cicero"^  and  Horace.^  Sextius,  one 
of  the  masters  of  Seneca,  a  philosopher  of  the  school  of 
Pythagoras,  who  flourished  chiefly  before  the  Christian  era, 
was  accustomed  dai'y  to  devote  a  portion  of  time  to  self- 
examination  ;  and  Seneca,  who  at  first  inclined  much  to  the 
tenets  of  Pythagoras,^  expressly  tells  us  that  it  was  from 
Sextius  he  learnt  the  practice.'^  The  increasing  prominence 
of  the  Pythagorean  philosophy  which  accompanied  the 
invasion  of  Oriental  creeds,  the  natural  tendency  of  the 
empire,  by  closing  the  avenues  of  political  life,  to  divert  the 
attention  from  action  to  emotion,  and  also  the  increased 
latitude  allowed  to  the  play  of  the  sympathies  or  affections 
by  the  later  Stoics,  brought  this  emotional  part  of  vii*tue  into 
great  prominence.  The  letters  of  Seneca  are  a  kind  of  moral 
medicine  applied  for  the  most  part  to  the  cure  of  different 


'  Plutarch,  De  Frofect.  in  Virt.  ^  He  even  gave  up,  for  a  time, 

This    precept    was     enforced     by  eating  meat,  in  obedience   to  the 

Bis-bop    Sanderson  in   one  of   his  Pythagorean  principles.   {Ep.cvm..) 

.lermons.     (Southey's  Commonplace  Seneca   had    two   masters   of  this 

Book,  vol.  i.  p.  92.)  school,    Sextius    and    Sotion.     He 

^  Diug.  Laert.     Pi/thagoras.  was  at  this  time   not  more    than 

3  Thus  Cicero  makes  Cato  say :  seventeen  years  old.     (See  Auber- 

'  Pythagoreorumque     more,    exer-  tin,  Etude  critique  stir  Ics  Rapports 

cendffi  memorise  gratia,  quid  quoque  svppnses  cntre  Seneque  et  St.  Paul, 

die    diier.m,    audiverim,    egerim,  p.  156.) 

eommemoro   vesperi.' — Be   Sentct.  ^  See  his  very  beautiful  descrip- 

ti.  tion    of    the    self-examination    of 

«  Ibid.  Sextius  and  of  himself     {De  Ire, 

»  Serri.on,  i.  4.  iii.  36.) 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  249 

infirniities  of  character.  Plutarch,  in  a  beautiful  treatise  on 
*The  Signs  of  Moral  Progress,'  treated  the  culture  of  the 
feelings  with  delicate  skill.  The  duty  of  serving  the  Divinity 
with  a  pure  mind  rather  than  by  formal  rites  beca  no  a 
cx^mmonplace  of  literature,  and  self-examination  one  of  the 
most  recognised  of  duties.  Epictetus  urged  men  so  to  purify 
their  imaginations,  that  at  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  woman 
they  should  not  even  mentally  exclaim,  *  Happy  her  hus- 
band ! '  *  The  meditations  of  Marcus  Aure-ius,  above  all. 
are  throughout  an  exercise  of  self-examination,  and  the  duty 
of  watching  over  the  thoughts  is  continually  inculcated. 

It  was  a  saying  of  Plutarch  that  Stoicism,  which  some- 
times exercised  a  prejudicial  and  hardening  influence  upon 
characters  that  were  by  natui-e  stei-n  and  unbending,  proved 
pecu^liarly  useful  as  a  coitlial  to  those  which  were  naturally 
gentle  and  yielding.  Of  this  truth  we  can  have  no  better 
illustration  than  is  fm^nished  by  the  life  and  writings  of 
Marcus  Aurelius,  the  last  and  most  perfect  representative 
of  Roman  Stoicism.  A  simple,  childlike,  and  eminently 
affectionate  disposition,  with  little  strength  of  intellect  or 
perhaps  originally  of  will,  much  more  inclined  to  meditation, 
speculation,  solitude,  or  friendship,  than  to  active  and  public 
life,  with  a  profound  aversion  to  the  pomp  of  royalty  and 
with  a  rather  strong  natural  leaning  to  pedantry,  he  had 
embi-aced  the  fortifying  philosophy  of  Zeno  in  its  best  form, 
and  that  philosophy  made  him  perhaps  as  near'y  a  perfectly 
virtuous  man  as  has  ever  appeared  upon  our  world.  Tried 
by  thv}  chequered  events  of  a  reign  of  nineteen  years,  presi- 
ding over  a  society  that  was  profoundly  corrupt,  and  over  a 
city  that  was  notorious  for  its  license,  the  perfection  of  his 
chai-acter  awed  even  calumny  to  silence,  and  the  spontaneous 
sentiment  of  his  people  proclaimed  him  rather  a  god  than  a 
man.^      Yery   few  men  have  ever  lived  concerning  whose 


'  Arrian,  ii.  18.     Compare  tho  *  'Quod  de  Romulo  <'egre  credi 

Manual  of  Epictetus,  xxxiv.  turn    est,    omues     pari     consensu 

18 


250  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS 

inner  life  we  can  speak  so  confidently.  His  '  Mediiations/ 
whicli  form  one  of  the  most  impressive,  form  also  one  of  the 
truest  books  in  the  whole  range  of  religious  literatiu-e.  They 
consist  of  rude  fragmentary  notes  without  literary  skill  or 
arrangement,  written  for  the  most  part  in  hasty,  broken,  ajid 
sometimes  almost  unintelligible  sentences  amid  the  turmoil 
of  a  camp,^  and  recording,  in  accents  of  the  most  penetrating 
sincerity,  the  struggles,  doubts,  and  aims  of  a  soul  of  which, 
to  employ  one  of  his  own  images,  it  may  be  truly  said  that  it 
possessed  the  purity  of  a  star,  which  needs  no  veil  to  hide  its 
nakedness.  The  imdisputed  master  of  the  whole  civilised 
world,  he  set  before  him  as  models  such  men  as  Thrasea  and 
Helvidius,  as  Cato  and  Brutus,  and  he  made  it  his  aim  to 
realise  the  conception  of  a  fiee  State  in  which  all  citizens  are 
equal,  and  of  a  royalty  which  makes  it  its  first  duty  to  respect 
the  liberty  of  the  citizens.^  His  life  was  passed  in  unremitting 
activity.  For  nearly  twelve  years  he  was  absent  with  armies 
in  the  distant  provinces  of  the  empire  ;  and  although  his  poli- 
tical capacity  has  been  much  and  perhaps  justly  questioned, 
it  is  impossible  to  deny  the  unwearied  zeal  wdth  which  he  dis- 
charged the  duties  of  his  great  position.  Yet  few  men  have 
ever  carried  farther  the  vii-tue  of  little  things,  the  delicate 
moral  tact  and  the  minute  scruples  which,  though  often 
exhibited  by  women  and  by  secluded  religionists,  very  rarely 
survive  much  contact  with  active  life.  The  solicitude  with 
which  he  endeavoured  to  persuade  two  jealous  rhetoricians 
to  abstain  during  their  debates  fi-om  retorts  that  might 
destroy  their  friendship,^  the  careful  gi-atitude  with  which,  in 
a  camp  in  Hungary,  he  recalled  every  moral  obliga  ticin  ho 


prfesuraserunt,   Marcnm  ccelo   re-  the  Granua,  iu  Hungary, 
ecprum  esse.' — Aur.  Vict.  Epit.  xvi.  ^  i.  14. 

•  De usque  etiam  nunc  habetur.' —  'See    his    touching    letter  to 

Capitolinus.  "Fronto,  who  was  about  to  engage 

'  The  first  book  of  his  Medita-  in  a  debate  with  Herod  Atticua. 
tions  was  written  on  the  borders  of 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  251 

could  trace,  even  to  the  most  obscure  of  his  tutors,^  h's 
anxiety  to  avoid  all  pedantry  and  mannerism  in  his  conduct,^ 
».nd  to  repel  every  voluptuous  imagination  from  his  mind,^ 
Iiis  deep  sense  of  the  obligation  of  purity,"*  his  laborious 
efforts  to  correct  a  habit  of  drowsiness  into  which  he  had 
faUen,  and  his  self-reproval  when  he  ha  1  yielded  to  it,^ 
become  all,  I  think,  inexpressibly  touchrug  when  we  rc- 
memV)er  that  they  were  exhibited  by  one  who  was  the 
supreme  ruler  of  the  civilised  globe,  and  who  was  continual]y 
engaged  in  the  du'ection  of  the  most  gigantic  interests.  But 
that  wliich  is  especially  remarkable  in  Marcus  Aurelius  is 
the  complete  absence  of  fanaticism  in  his  philanthropy. 
Despotic  monarchs  sincerely  anxious  to  improve  mankind  are 
natm-ally  led  to  endeavour,  by  acts  of  legislation,  to  force 
society  into  the  paths  which  they  believe  to  be  good,  and 
such  men,  acting  under  such  motives,  have  sometimes  been 
the  scoiu-ges  of  mankind.  Philip  II.  and  Isabella  the 
Catholic  inflicted  more  suffering  in  obedience  to  their  con- 
sciences than  Nero  and  Domitian  in  obedience  to  their  lusts. 
But  Marcus  Aurelius  steadily  resisted  the  temptation.  '  Never 
hope,'  he  once  wrote,  '  to  realise  Plato's  Republic.  Let  it  be 
sufficient  that  you  have  in  some  slight  degree  ameliorated 
mankind,  and  do  not  think  that  amelioration  a  matter  of 
small  importance.  Who  can  change  the  opinions  of  men? 
and  without  a  change  ot  sentiments  what  can  you  make  but 
reluctant  slaves  and  hypocrites  1 '  ^  He  promulgated  many 
laws  inspired  by  a  spirit  of  the   pm-est   benevolence.     Ho 


'  i      6-15.       The    eulogy    he  just  and  temperate  and  a  follower 

passed  on  his  Stoic  master  Apol-  of  the  gods ;  but  be  so  "with  sira- 

lonius  is  worthy  of  notice.     Apol-  plicity,  for  the  pride  of  modesty  is 

lonius     furnished     him    witti     an  the  worst  of  all.'    (xii.  27.) 

example    of    the    combination    of  "  '  iii.  4. 

extreme  firmness  and  gentleness.  *  i.  17. 

■'  E.g.   'Beware  of  Csesari-sing.'  *  v.  1. 

(vi.  30.)     '  Be  neither  a  tragedian  ^  ix.  "29. 
nor   a   courtesan.'   (v.  28.)      'Be 


252  HISTORY    OF    EUKOPEAN    MORALS. 

mitigated  the  gladiatorial  shows.  He  treated  with  invariable 
deference  th<^  senate,  which  was  the  last  bulwark  of  political 
ft-eedom.  He  endowed  many  chaii's  of  philosophy  which 
were  intended  to  diffuse  knowledge  and  moral  teaching 
through  the  people.  He  endeavoui-ed  by  the  example  of  liis 
Coiu't  to  correct  the  extravagances  of  luxury  that  were  pre- 
valent, and  he  exhibited  in  his  own  career  a  perfect  model  of 
an  active  and  conscientious  administrator ;  but  he  made  no 
rasli  efforts  to  force  the  people  by  stringent  laws  out  of  the 
natural  channel  of  theu'  lives.  Of  the  corniption  of  his  sub- 
jects he  was  keenly  sensible,  and  he  bore  it  with  a  mom-nful 
but  gentle  patience.  We  may  trace  in  this  respect  the  milder 
spirit  of  those  Greek  teachers  who  had  diverged  from  Stoi- 
cism, but  it  was  especially  from  the  Stoical  doctrine  that  ail 
vice  springs  from  ignorance  that  he  derived  his  rule  of  life, 
and  this  doctrine,  to  which  he  repeatedly  recurred,  imparted 
to  all  his  judgments  a  sad  but  tender  charity.  '  Men  were 
made  for  men  ;  correct  them,  then,  or  support  them.'  ^  '  If 
they  do  ill,  it  is  evidently  in  spite  of  themselves  and  through 
ignorance.'^  *  CoiTCct  them  if  you  can;  if  not,  remember 
that  patience  was  given  you  to  exercise  it  in  their  behalf.'^ 

*  It  would  be  shameful  for  a  physician  to  deem  it  strange  that 
a  man  was  suffering  from  fever.'''  '  The  immortal  gods  con- 
sent for  countless  ages  to  endure  without  anger,  and  even  to 
surround  with  blessings,  so  many  and  such  \\T.cked  men  ;  but 
thou  who  hast  so  short  a  time  to  live,  art  thou  already  weary, 
and  that  when  thou  art  thyself  wicked  V  ^  '  It  is  involun- 
tari'y  that  the  soul  is  deprived  of  justice,  and  temperance, 
and  goodness,  and  all  other  virtues.  Continually  remember 
this  ;  the  thought  will  make  you  more  gentle  to  all  mankind.'  ^ 

*  It  is  right  that  man  should  love  those  who  have  offended 
him.     He  will  do  so  when  he  remembers  that  all  men  are  his 


'  viii.  59.  *  viii.  15. 

2xi.   18.  ^  vii.  70. 

«ix.  U.  *  vii.  63. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  253 

relations,  and  that  it  is  through  ignoi-ance  and  involuntarily 
that  they  sin — and  then  we  all  die  so  soon.'^ 

The  character  of  the  virtue  of  Marcus  Aiu-elius,  though 
exhibiting  the  softening  influence  of  the  Greek  spirit  which 
in  his  time  pervaded  the  empire,  was  in  its  essentials  strictly 
Koman.2  Though  full  of  re\^erential  gratitude  to  Providence, 
we  do  not  find  in  him  that  intense  humility  and  that  deep 
and  subtle  religious  feeling  which  were  the  principles  of 
Hebrew  virtiie,  and  which  have  given  the  Jewish  writers  so 
great  an  ascendancy  over  the  hearts  of  men.  Though  borne 
naturally  and  instinctively  to  goodness,  his  '  Meditations '  do 
not  disjjlay  the  keen  sesthetical  sense  of  the  beauty  of  virtue 
which  was  the  leading  motive  of  Greek  morals,  and  which  the 
writing  of  Plotinus  afterwards  made  very  familiar  to  the 
Koman  worid.  Like  most  of  the  best  Romans,  the  principle 
of  his  virtue  was  the  sense  of  duty,  the  conviction  of  the 
existence  of  a  law  of  nature  to  which  it  is  the  aim  and  pur- 
pose of  our  being  to  conform.  Of  secondary  motives  he 
appears  to  have  been  little  sensible.  The  belief  in  a  super- 
intending Providence  was  the  strongest  of  his  religious 
convictions,  but  even  that  was  occasionally  overcast.  On  the 
subject  of  a  future  word  his  mind  floated  in  a  desponding 
doubt.  The  desire  for  posthumous  fame  he  deemed  it  his  duty 
systematically  to  mortify.  While  most  writers  of  his  school 
regarded  death  chiefly  as  the  end  of  sorrows,  and  dwelt  upon 
it  in  order  to  dispel  its  terrors,  in  Marcus  Aurelius  it  is 
chiefly  represented  as  the  last  gi-eat  demonstration  of  the 
vanity  of  earthly  things.  Seldom,  indeed,  has  such  active 
and  unrelaxing  vii-tue  been  united  with  so  little  enthusiasm, 


'  vii.  22.  Plutarch,    the   foundation    of    his 

^  Mr.  Maurice,  in  tiais  respecr,  mind    was    Roman.      He    was    a 

compares  and  contrasts  him  very  student  that  he  might  more  effec- 

happily     with    Phitarch.       'Like  tually  carry  on  the  business  of  an 

Plutarch,  the    Greek   and  Roman  emperor.' — Philosophy  of  the  First 

characters  were  in  Marcus  Aurelius  Six  Ceni?iries, 'p.  32. 
remarkably    blended;    but,  unlike 


254  HISTOKY    OF    EUROPEAA^    MOHALS. 

and  been  cheered  by  so  little  illusion  oi  success.  '  There  ia 
but  one  tiling,'  he  wrote,  '  of  real  value — to  cultivate  truth 
and  justice,  and  to  live  without  anger  in  the  midst  of  lying 
and  unjust  men,'^ 

The  command  he  had  acquired  over  his  feelings  was  so 
great  that  it  was  said  of  him  that  his  comitenance  was  ncTer 
known  to  betray  either  elation  or  despondency. ^  We,  however, 
who  have  before  us  the  records  of  his  inner  life,  can  have  no 
difficulty  in  detecting  the  deep  melancholy  that  overshadowed 
his  mind,  and  his  closing  years  were  darkened  by  many  and 
various  sorrows.  His  wife,  whom  he  dearly  loved  and 
deeply  honoiu-cd,  and  who,  if  we  may  believe  the  Court 
scandals  that  are  reported  by  historians,  was  not  worthy'  of 
his  affection,^  had  preceded  him  to  the  tomb.  His  only  sur- 
viving son  had  ali-eady  displayed  the  vicious  tendencies  that 
afterwards  made  him  one  of  the  worst  of  rulers.  The  pliilo- 
sophei'S,  who  had  instructed  him  in  his  youth,  and  to  whom 
he  had  clung  with  an  affectionate  friendship,  had  one  by  one 
disappeared,  and  no  new  race  had  arisen  to  supply  their 
p^ace.  After  a  long  reign  of  self-denying  vii'tue,  he  saw  the 
decadence  of  the  empire  continually  more  apparent.  The 
Stoical  school  v>"as  rapidly  fadiag  before  the  passion  for 
Oriental  superstitions.  The  barbarians,  repelled  for  a  time, 
were  again  menacing  the  frontiers,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to 
foresetj  their  future  triumph.     The  mass  of  the  people  had 


^  vi.  47.  have  collected.  It  will  be  observed 

"  Capit-olinus,  Aurelius  Victor,  that  the  emperor  himself  has  left 

^  M.  Suckiiu,  in  his  admirable  an     emphatic     testimony    to    her 

Etude    siir   Marc-Aurele,    and   M.  virtue,   and  to  the    happiness   he 

Eenan,  in  a  very  acute  and  learned  derived  from  her  (i.  17) ;  that  the 

Examen  de  quelques  faits  relatifs  a  earliest  extant  biographer  of  Mar- 

Vimperatrice  Fanstine  (read  before  cus    Aurelius    was    a    generation 

the    Institut,    August    14,    1867),  later  ;     and    that    the     infamous 

have   shown   the   extreme    uncer-  character  of  Commodus  naturally 

tainty   of    the   storios    about   the  predisposed   men  to  imagine  that 

debaucheries   of  Faustina,    which  he  was  not  the  son  of  so  perfect  an 

the  biographers  of  Marcus  Aurelius  emperor. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  255 

become  too  inert  and  too  corrupt  for  any  efforts  io  regenerate 
tliem.  A  fearful  pestilence,  followed  by  many  minor  calamities, 
had  fallen  upon  the  land  and  spread  misery  and  panic  through 
many  provinces.  In  the  midst  of  these  calamities,  the  em- 
peror was  struck  down  with  a  mortal  illness,  which  he  bore 
with  the  placid  courage  he  had  always  displayed,  exhibiting 
tQ  almost  the  last  words  he  uttered  his  forgetfulness  of  self 
and  his  constant  anxiety  for  the  condition  of  his  people.^ 
Shortly  before  his  death  he  d.'smissed  his  attendants,  and, 
after  one  last  interview,  his  son,  and  he  died  as  he  long  had 
lived,  alone.  2 

Thus  sank  to  rest  in  c^.ouds  and  darkness  the  purest  and 
gentlest  spii'it  of  all  the  pagan  world,  the  most  pei-fect  model 
of  the  later  Stoics.  In  him  the  hardness,  asperity,  and  arro- 
gance of  the  sect  had  altogether  disappeared,  while  the 
affectation  its  paradoxes  tended  to  produce  was  greatly 
mitigated.  Without  fanaticism,  superstition,  or  illusion,  his 
whole  life  was  regulated  by  a  simple  and  unwavering  sense 
of  duty.  The  contemplative  and  emotional  vii'tues  which 
Stoicism  had  long  depressed,  had  regained  their  place,  but  the 
active  virtues  had  not  yet  declined.  The  \drtues  of  the  hero 
were  still  deeply  honoured,  but  gentleness  and  tenderness  had 
acquired  a  new  prominence  in  the  ideal  type. 

But  while  the  force  of  circumstances  was  thus  developing 
the  ethical  conceptions  of  antiquity  in  new  directions,  the 
mass  of  the  Roman  people  were  plunged  in  a  condition  of 
depravity  which  no  mere  ethical  teaching  could  adequately 
correct.  The  moral  condition  of  the  empii-e  is,  indeed,  in  some 
respects  one  of  the  most  appalling  pictures  on  record,  and 
writers  have  much  more  frequently  undertaken  to  paint  or 
e\'en  to  exaggerate  its  enormity  than  to  investigate  the  circum- 
stances by  which  it  may  be  explained.      Such  circumstances, 


•  'Quid  me  fletis,  et  non  magis     cogitatis  ?'     Capitolinus,  M.  Jure- 
de  pestik-ntia   et  communi   morte     liiis.  ^  Ibid. 


256  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MOllALS. 

however,  must  unquestionably  exist.  There  is  no  reason  to 
believe  that  tlie  innate  propensities  of  the  people  were  worse 
dui'ing  the  Empii-e  than  during  the  best  days  of  the  Republic, 
The  depravity  of  a  nation  is  a  phenomenon  which,  like  a]  I 
others,  may  be  traced  to  definite  causes,  and  in  the  instanco 
before  us  they  are  not  difficult  to  discover. 

I  have  already  said  that  the  virtue  of  the  Romans  was  a 
military  and  patriotic  vii'tue,  formed  by  the  national  insti- 
tutions, and  to  which  religious  teaching  was  merely  accessory. 
The  domestic,  military,  and  censorial  discipline,  concurring 
with  the  general  poverty  and  also  with  the  a-giicultural  pur- 
suits of  the  people,  had  created  the  simplest  and  most  austere 
habits,  while  the  institutions  of  civic  liberty  provided  ample 
spheres  for  honourable  ambition.  The  nobles,  being  the 
highest  body  in  a  free  State,  and  being  at  the  same  time  con- 
tinually confronted  by  a  formidable  opposition  imder  the 
guidance  of  the  tribunes,  vrere  ardently  devoted  to  public  lifp. 
The  dangerous  rivahy  of  the  sm-rounding  Italian  States,  and 
afterwards  of  Carthage,  demanded  and  secured  a  constant 
vigilance.  Roman  education  was  skilfully  designed  to  elicit 
heroic  patriotism,  and  the  great  men  of  the  past  became 
the  ideal  figures  of  the  imagination.  Religion  hallowed 
the  local  feeling  by  rites  and  legends,  instituted  many  useful 
and  domestic  habits,  taught  men  the  sanctity  of  oaths, 
and,  by  fostering  a  continual  sense  of  a  superintending 
Providence,  gave  a  depth  and  solemnity  to  the  whole 
chai-acter. 

Such  were  the  chief  influences  by  which  the  national  type 
of  virtue  had  been  formed,  but  nearly  all  of  these  were  cor- 
roded or  perverted  by  advancing  civilisation.  The  domestic 
and  local  religion  lost  its  ascendancy  amid  the  ijicrease  of 
scepticism  and  the  invasion  of  a  crowd  of  foi-eign  superstitions. 
The  simplicity  of  manners,  which  sumptuary  laws  and  the 
Institution  of  the  censorship  had  long  maintained,  was  rejilaced 
jj  the  extravagances  of  a  Babylonian    luxury.     The   axis- 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  257 

tocratic  dignity  perished  with  the  pri\dleges  on  which  it 
reposed.  The  patriotic  energy  and  enthusiasm  died  away  in 
a  universal  empire  which  embraced  all  varieties  of  language, 
custom,  and  nationality. 

But  although  the  virtues  of  a  poor  and  struggling  com- 
munity necessarily  disappear  before  increasing  luxury,  they 
are  in.  a  nonnal  condition  of  society  replaced  by  virtues  of  a 
different  stamp.  Gentler  manners  and  enlarged  benevolent 
follow  in  the  train  of  civilisation,  greater  intellectual  activity 
and  more  extended  industrial  entei'prise  give  a  new  importance 
to  the  moral  qualities  which  each  of  these  require,  the  circle 
of  political  interests  expands,  and  if  the  vii^tues  that  spring 
from  privilege  diminish,  the  virtues  that  spring  from  equality 
increase. 

In  Rome,  however,  there  were  three  great  causes  which 
impeded  the  normal  development — the  Imperial  system,  the 
institution  of  slavery,  and  the  gladiatorial  shows.  Each  of 
these  exercised  an  influence  of  the  widest  and  most  pernicious 
character  on  the  morals  of  the  people.  To  trace  those 
influences  in  all  their  ramifications  would  lead  me  far  beyond 
the  limits  I  have  assigned  to  the  present  work,  but  I  shall 
endeavour  to  give  a  concise  view  of  their  nature  and  general 
character. 

The  theory  of  the  Eoman  Empii-e  was  that  of  a  repre- 
sentative despotism.  The  various  ofl[ices  of  the  Republic  were 
not  annihilated,  but  they  were  gi-adually  concentrat<id  in  a 
single  man.  The  senate  was  still  ostensibly  the  depository  of 
supreme  power,  but  it  was  made  in  fact  the  mere  creatiu-e 
of  the  Emperor,  whose  power  was  viii;uaUy  uncontrolled. 
Political  spies  and  private  accusers,  who  in  the  latter  days  of 
Ihi)  Republic  had  been  encouraged  to  denoimce  plots  against 
t)io  State,  began  under  Augustus  to  denounce  plots  against 
the  Emperor ;  and  the  c'ass  being  enormously  increased  under 
Tiberius,  and  stimulated  by  the  promise  of  part  of  the  confis- 
cated i)roperty,  they  menaced  every  leading  politician  Rnd 


258  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

even  every  wealthy  man.  The  nobles  were  gi'aduallj 
depressed,  ruined,  or  driven  by  the  dangers  of  public  life  into 
orgies  of  private  luxury.  The  poor  were  conciliated,  not  by 
any  increase  of  liberty  oi*  even  of  permanent  prosperity,  but 
by  gratuitous  distributions  of  corn  and  by  public  games, 
while,  in  order  to  invest  themselves  with  a  sacred  character, 
tlie  emperors  adopted  the  religious  device  of  an  apotheosis. 

This  last  superstition,  of  which  some  traces  may  still  be 
found  in  the  titles  appropriated  to  royalty,  was  not  wholly  a 
suggestion  of  politicians.  Deified  men  had  long  occupied  a 
prominent  place  in  ancient  belief,  and  the  founders  of  cities 
had  been  very  frequently  worshipped  by  the  inhabitants.^ 
Although  to  more  educated  minds  the  ascription  of  divinity 
to  a  sovereign  was  simply  an  unmeaning  flattery,  although  it 
in  no  degree  prevented  either  innumerable  plots  against  his 
life,  or  an  unsparing  criticism  of  his  memory,  yet  the  popular 
reverence  not  unfrequently  anticipated  politicians  in  represent- 
ing the  emperor  as  in  some  special  way  under  the  protection 
of  Providence.  Around  Augustus  a  whole  constellation  of 
miraculous  stories  soon  clustered.  Au  oracle,  it  was  said, 
had  declared  his  native  city  destined  to  produce  a  ruler  of 
fche  world.  When  a  child,  he  had  been  borne  by  invisible 
hands  from  his  cradle,  and  placed  on  a  lofty  tower,  where  he 
was  found  with  his  face  turned  to  the  rising  sun.  He  re- 
buked the  frogs  that  croaked  around  his  grandfither's  home, 
and  they  became  silent  for  ever.  An  eagle  snatched  a  piece 
of  bread  from  his  hand,  soared  into  the  air,  and  then,  descend- 
ing, presented  it  to  him  again.  Another  eagle  dropped  at  hia 
feet  a  chicken,  bearing  a  laurel-branch  in  its  beak.  When 
his  body  was  burnt,  his  image  was  seen  rising  to  heaven  above 
the  flames.  When  another  man  tried  to  sleep  in  the  bed  in 
which  the  Emperor  had  been  born,  the  profane  intruder  waa 


*  Many  examples  of  this  are  given  by  Coulanges,  La  Cite  antique^ 
pp.  177-178. 


THE    TAGAN    EMPIRE.  259 

dragged  forth  by  an  unseen  hand.  A  patrician  named  Lseto- 
rins,  having  been  condemned  for  adultery,  pleaded  in  mitiga- 
tion of  the  sentence  that  he  was  the  happy  possessor  of  the 
spot  of  ground  on  which  Augustus  was  born.'  An  Asiatic 
town,  named  Cyzicus,  was  deprived  of  its  freedom  by  Tiberius, 
cliiefly  because  it  had  neglected  the  worship  of  Augustus.'-^ 
Partly,  no  doubt,  by  policy,  but  partly  also  by  that  sponta- 
neous process  by  which  in  a  superstitious  age  conspicuous 
characters  so  often  become  the  nuclei  of  legends,^  each  em- 
peror was  surrounded  by  a  supernatural  aureole  Every 
usurpation,  every  break  in  the  ordinary  line  of  succession, 
was  adumbrated  by  a  series  of  miracles;  and  signs,  both  in 
heaven  and  earth,  were  manifested  whenever  an  emperor  was 
about  to  die. 

C)f  the  emperors  themselves,  a  great  majority,  no  doubt, 
accepted  theii-  divine  honours  as  an  empty  pageant,  and  more 
than  one  exhibited  beneath  the  piu-ple  a  simplicity  of  tastes 
and  character  which  the  boasted  heroes  of  the  Republic  had 
never  sui  passed.  It  is  related  of  Vespasian  that,  when  dying, 
he  jested  mournfully  on  his  approaching  dignity,  observing, 
as  he  felt  his  strength  ebbing  away,  '  I  think  I  am  becoming 
a  god.'^  Alexander  Severus  and  Julian  refused  to  accept  the 
ordinary  language  of  adulation,  and  of  those  who  did  not 
reject  it  we  know  that  many  looked  upon  it  as  a  modern 
sovereign  looks  upon  the  phraseology  of  petitions  or  the  cere- 
monies of  the  Court.  Even  Nero  was  so  far  from  being  in- 
toxicated with  his  Imperial  dignity  that  he  continually  sought 
triumphs  as  a  singer  or  an  actor,  and  it  was  his  artistic  skill, 
not  his  divine  prerogatives,  that  excited  his  vanity.-^  Cali- 
gula, however,  who  appears  to  have  been  literally  deranged/ 


'  All  this  is  related  by  Siieto-  Siieton.  J.  C.  IxxxAaii. 
tL\M^,  August.  *  Sueton.  Vesp.  xxiii. 

2  Tacit.  JwzrtZ.  iv.  36.  ^  '  Qualis   artifex    pereo'  were 

*  See,    e.g.,  the   sentiments  of  his  dying  W(;rds. 
the    people    about   JuJius    Caesar,  *'  See  Sueton.  Calig.  1. 


260  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

is  said  to  have  accepted  his  divinity  as  a  serious  fact,  to  have 
substituted  his  own  head  for  that  of  Jupiter  on  many  of  the 
statues,^  and  to  have  once  started  furiously  from  his  seat 
during  a  thunderstorm  that  had  interrupted  a  gladiatorial 
show,  shouting  with  frantic  gestures  his  imprecations  against 
Heaven,  and  declaring  that  the  divided  empire  was  indeed 
intolerable,  that  either  Jupiter  or  himself  must  speedily  suc- 
cumb. ^  Heliogabalus,  if  we  may  give  any  credence  to  his 
biographer,  confounded  all  things,  human  and  divine,  in 
hideous  and  blasphemous  orgies,  and  designed  to  unite  all 
forms  of  religion  in  the  worship  of  himself. 

A  curious  consequence  of  tliis  apotheosis  was  that  the 
images  of  the  emperors  were  invested  with  a  sacred  character 
like  those  of  the  gods.  They  were  the  recognised  refuge  of 
the  slave  or  the  oppressed,"*  and  the  smallest  disrespect  to 
them  was  lesented  as  a  heinous  crime.  Under  Tibeiius, 
slaves  and  criminals  were  accustomed  to  hold  in  their  hands 
an  image  of  the  emperor,  and,  beiDg  thus  protected,  to  poui- 
with  impunity  a  ton  ent  of  defiant  insolence  upon  their  masters 
or  judges.^  Under  the  same  emperor,  a  man  having,  when 
drunk,  accidentally  touched  a  nameless  domestic  utensil  with 
a  ring  on  which  the  head  of  the  emperor  v/as  carved,  he  was 
immediately  denounced  by  a  spy.^  A  man  in  tliis  reign  was 
accused  of  high  treason  for  having  sold  an  image  of  the  em- 
peror with  a  garden.'^  It  was  made  a  capital  offence  to  beat 
a  slave,  or  to  undress,  near  a  statue  of  Augustus,  or  to  enter 
a  brothel  with  a  piece  of  money  on  which  his  head  was  en- 
gi'aved,®  and  at  a  later  period  a  woman,  it  is  said,  was  ac- 


'  Suetou.  CaJig.  xxii.     A  statue  ^  Ta,c.\t.  Annul,  iii.  36. 

of  Jupiter  is  said  to  have  burst  out  "  Senec.  De  B^nejic.  iii.  26. 

laughing  just  before  the  death  of  '  Tacit.  Anncd.  i.  73.     Tibcriai 

this  emperor.  refused  to  alloiv  this  case  to  be  pro- 

2  Seneca,  Be  Ira,  i.  46  ;  Sueton.  ceeded    with.      See,    too,    Philost. 


Ca,'^.  xxn. 


Apolhmiiis  of  Tyana,  i.  15, 


Larapridius,  Heliogab.  ^  Suet.  Tiber.  Iviii. 

*  Senec.  Be  Clemen,  i.  18. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  261 

hiaily  executed  for   undressing  before  the   statue    of    Do- 
mitian.i 

It  may  easily  be  conceived  that  men  who  had  been  raised 
to  this  pinnacle  of  arrogance  and  power,  men  who  exercised 
iiD  controlled  authority  in  the  midst  of  a  society  in  a  state  of 
profound  corruption,  were  often  guilty  of  the  most  atrocious 
extravagances.  In  the  first  period  of  the  Empire  more  espe- 
cially, when  traditions  were  not  yet  formed,  and  when  experi- 
ence had  not  yet  shown  the  dangers  of  the  throne,  the  brains 
of  some  of  its  occupants  reeled  at  their  elevation,  and  a  kind 
of  moral  insanity  ensued.  The  pages  of  Suetonius  remain  as 
an  eternal  witness  of  the  abysses  of  depravity,  the  hideous, 
intolerable  cruelty,  the  hitherto  unimagined  extravagances  of 
nameless  lust  that  were  then  manifested  on  the  Palatine,  and 
while  they  cast  a  fearful  light  upon  the  moral  chaos  into 
which  pagan  society  had  sunk,  they  furnish  ample  evidence 
of  the  demoralising  influences  of  the  empire.  The  throne  was, 
it  is  true,  occupied  by  some  of  the  best  as  well  as  by  some  of 
the  worst  men  who  have  ever  lived;  but.the  evil,  though 
checked  and  mitigated,  was  never  abolished.  The  corruption 
of  a  Coiu't,  the  formation  of  a  profession  of  spies,  the  encou- 
ragement given  to  luxury,  the  distributions  of  com,  and  the 
multiplication  of  games,  were  evils  which  varied  greatly  in 
their  degrees  of  intensity,  but  the  very  existence  of  the  empii-e 
prevented  the  creation  of  those  habits  of  political  life  which 
formed  the  moral  type  of  the  great  republics  of  antiquity. 
Liberty,  which  is  often  very  unfavourable  to  theologica) 
systems,  is  almost  always  in  the  end  favourable  to  morals  : 
for  the  most  effectual  method  that  has  been  devised  for  divert- 
ing men  from  vice  is  to  give  free  scope  to  a  higher  ambition. 
Thi?  scope  was  absolutely  wanting  in  the  Roman  Empire, 
and  the  moral  condition,  in  the  absence  of  lasting  political 
habits,  fluctuated  greatly  with  the  character  of  the  Emperors. 

'  '  Mulier  quGedam,  quod  semel  damnata  et  intcrfecta  est.' — Xiphi- 
exuerat  ante   statuam   Domitiaiii,     lin,  Ixvii.  12. 


2(5*2  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

The  results  of  the  institution  of  slaveiy  were  probably 
even  more  serious.  In  addition  to  its  manifest  effect  in  en- 
couraging a  tyi-annical  and  ferocious  spirit  in  the  masters,  it 
cast  a  stigma  upon  all  labour,  and  at  once  degraded  and  im- 
poverished the  free  poor.  In  modern  societies  the  formation 
of  an  influential  and  numerous  middle  class,  trained  in  the 
sober  and  regular  habits  of  industrial  life,  is  the  chief  guarantee 
of  national  morality,  and  where  such  a  class  exists,  the  dis- 
orders of  the  upper  ranks,  though  undoubtedly  injurious,  are 
never  fatal  to  society.  The  influence  of  great  outbursts  of 
fashionable  depra^dt3%  such  as  tliat  which  followed  the  Re- 
storation in  England,  is  rarely  more  than  superficial.  The 
aristocracy  may  revel  in  every  excess  of  ostentatious  vice,  but 
the  g]  eat  mass  of  the  people,  at  the  loom,  the  counter,  or  the 
plough ,  continue  unaflccted  by  their  example,  and  the  habits 
of  life  into  which  thcj  are  forced  by  the  condition  of  their 
trades  preserve  them  from  gross  depravity.  It  was  the  most 
frightful  feature  of  the  corruption  of  ancient  Home  that  it 
extended  through  every  class  of  the  community.  In  the 
absence  of  ail  but  the  simjDlest  machinery,  manufactures,  Avith 
the  vast  industrial  life  they  beget,  were  unknown.  The  poor 
citizen  found  almost  all  the  spheres  in  which  an  honourable 
livelihood  might  be  obtained  wholly  or  at  least  in  a  veiy  great 
degree  preoccupied  by  slaves,  while  he  had  learnt  to  regard 
trade  with  an  invincible  repugnance.  Hence  followed  the 
immense  increase  of  corrupt  and  corrupting  professions,  as 
actors,  pantomimes,  hired  gladiators,  political  spies,  ministers 
to  passion,  astrologers,  religious  charlatans,  pseudo-philoso- 
phers, which  gave  the  free  classes  a  precarious  and  occasional 
subsistence,  and  hence,  too,  the  gigantic  dimensions  of  the 
system  of  clientage.  Every  rich  man  was  surrounded  by  a 
train  of  dependants,  who  lived  in  a  great  measure  at  liis 
expense,  and  spent  their  lives  in  ministering  to  his  passions 
and  flattering  his  vanity.  And,  above  all,  the  public  distri- 
bution of  corn;  and  occasionally  of  money,  was  carried  on  t<3 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  263 

Biich  an  extent,  tliat,  so  far  as  the  first  necessaries  of  life  were 
concerned,  the  wliole  poor  free  population  of  Rome  was  sup- 
ported gratuitously  by  the  Government.  To  effect  this  dis- 
tribution promptly  and  lavishly  was  the  main  object  of  tho 
Imperial  policy,  and  its  consequences  were  worse  than  could 
have  resulted  fiom  the  most  extravagant  poor-laws  or  the 
most  excessive  charity.  The  mass  of  the  people  were  sup- 
ported in  absolute  idleness  by  corn,  which  was  given  without 
any  reference  to  desert,  and  w^as  received,  not  as  a  favour,  but 
as  a  light,  while  gratuitous  public  amusements  still  further 
diverted  them  from  labour. 

Under  these  influences  the  population  rapidly  dwindled 
away.  Productive  enterprise  was  almost  extinct  in  Italy, 
and  an  unexampled  concurrence  of  causes  made  a  vicious  celi- 
bacy the  habitual  condition.  Already  in  the  days  of  Augustus 
the  evil  was  apparent,  and  the  dangers  which  in  later  reigns 
drove  the  patricians  still  more  generally  from  public  life, 
drove  them  more  and  more  into  every  extravagance  of  sensu- 
ality. Greece,  since  the  destruction  of  her  libei-ty,  and  also 
the  leading  ciiies  of  Asia  Minor  and  of  Egypt,  had  become 
centres  of  the  wildest  corruption,  and  Greek  and  Oiiental 
captives  were  innumerable  in  Home.  Ionian  slaves  of  a  sur- 
passing beauty,  Alexandrian  slaves,  famous  for  their  subtle 
skill  in  stimulating  the  jaded  senses  of  the  confirmed  and 
sated  libertine,  became  the  ornaments  of  every  patrician  house, 
the  companions  and  the  instructors  of  the  young.  The  dis- 
inclination to  marriage  was  so  general,  that  men  who  spent 
their  lives  in  endeavouiing  hj  flatteiies  to  secure  the  inherit- 
ance of  wealthy  bachelors  became  a  numerous  and  a  notorious 
class.  The  s'ave  population  was  itself  a  hotbed  of  \'ice,  and 
it  contaminated  all  with  which  it  came  in  contact ;  while  the 
attractions  of  the  games,  and  especially  of  the  public  baths, 
which  became  the  habitual  resort  of  the  idle,  combined  with 
the  charms  of  the  Italian  climate,  and  with  the  misei^able 
domestic  architecture  that  was  general,   to  draw  the  poor 


264  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

citizens  from  indoor  life.  Idleness,  amusements,  and  a  bare 
subsistence  were  alone  desired,  and  the  general  practice  of 
abortion  among  the  rich,  and  of  infanticide  and  exposition  in 
all  classes,  still  further  checked  the  population. 

The  destruction  of  all  public  spirit  in  a  population  so 
Gituated  was  complete  and  inevitable.  In  the  days  of  the 
Republic  a  consul  had  once  advocated  the  admission  of  a  brave 
Italian  people  to  the  right  of  Roman  citizenship,  on  the 
ground  that  '  those  who  thought  only  of  liberty  deserved  to 
be  Romans.''  In  the  Empire  all  liberty  was  cheerfully  bar- 
tered for  games  and  corn,  and  the  worst  tyrant  could  by 
these  means  be  secure  of  popularity.  In  the  Republic,  when 
Marius  threw  open  the  houses  of  those  he  had  proscribed,  to 
be  plundered,  the  people,  by  a  noble  abstinence,  rebuked  the 
act,  for  no  Roman  could  be  found  to  avail  himself  of  the 
permission.^  In  the  Empire,  when  the  armies  of  Vitellius 
and  Vespasian  were  disputing  the  possession  of  the  city,  the 
degenerate  Romans  gathered  with  delight  to  the  spectacle  as 
to  a  gladiatorial  show,  plundered  the  deserted  houses,  en- 
couraged either  army  by  their  reckless  plaudits,  dragged  out 
the  fugitives  to  be  slain,  and  converted  into  a  festival  the 
calamity  of  their  country.^  The  degradation  of  the  national 
character  was  permanent.  Neither  the  teaching  of  the 
Stoics,  nor  the  government  of  the  Antonines,  nor  the  triumph 
of  Christianity  could  restore  it.  Indifferent  to  liberty,  the 
Roman  now,  as  then,  asks  only  for  an  idle  subsistence  and 
for  public  spectacles,  and  countless  monasteries  and  ecclesi- 
astical pageants  occupy  in  modern  Rome  the  same  place  as 
did  the  distributions  of  corn  and  the  games  of  the  amphi- 
theatre in  the  Rome  of  the  Caesars. 

It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  while  public  spirit  had 


'  '  Eos  demuin,  qui  nihil  prseter-  ^  V^alerius  Maximus,  iv.  3,  §  14. 

qnam  do  libertate   cogitent,  clignos  ^  See  the  picture  of  this  scene 

esse,  qui  Komani  fiant.'--  Livy,  viii.  in  Tacitus,  Hist.  iii.  83. 
21. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  '26ti 

tlius  decayed  in  the  capital  of  the  eni))ii'e,  there  existed  no 
independent  or  rival  power  to  reanimate  by  its  exam})le  the 
smouldering  flame.  The  existence  in  modern  Europe  of 
many  distinct  nations  on  the  same  level  of  civilisation,  but 
with  different  fonns  of  government  and  conditions  of  national 
life  secures  the  permanence  of  some  measure  of  patriotism 
and  liberty.  If  these  perish  in  one  nation,  they  survive  in 
another,  and  each  people  aflfects  those  about  it  by  its  rivalry 
or  example.  But  an  empire  which  comprised  all  the  civilised 
globe  could  krrow  nothing  of  this  political  interaction.  In 
religious,  social,  intellectual,  and  moral  life,  foreign  ideas 
were  very  discernible,  but  the  enslaved  proviirces  could  have 
no  influence  in  rekindling  political  life  in  the  centre,  and 
those  which  rivalled  Italy  in  their  civilisation,  even  surpassed 
it  in  their  corruption  and  their  servility. 

In  reviewing,  however,  the  conditions  upon  which  the 
moral  state  of  the  empire  depended,  there  are  still  two  very 
important  centres  or  seed-plots  of  virtue  to  which  it  is 
necessary  to  advert.  I  mean  the  pursuit  of  agriculture  and 
the  discipline  of  the  army.  A  very  early  tradition,  which 
was  attributed  to  Eomulus,  had  declared  that  warfare  and 
agriculture  were  the  only  honourable  occupations  for  a 
citizen,'  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  overrate  the  influence  of 
the  last  in  forming  temperate  and  virtuous  habits  among  the 
people.  It  is  the  subject  of  the  only  extant  work  of  the 
elder  Cato.  Yir-gil  had  adorned  it  with  the  lustre  of  his 
poetry.  A  very  large  part  of  the  Roman  religion  was  in- 
tended to  symbolise  its  stages  or  consecrate  its  operations. 
Yarro  expressed  an  emiirently  Roman  sentiment  in  that 
beairtiful  sentence  which  Cowper  has  introduced  into  English 
poetry,  '  Divine  Providence  made  the  country,  but  human 
art  the  town,'^     The  reforms  of  Vespasian  consisted  chiefly 


^  Dion.  Halicarnass. 

'  'Diviiia  Natura  deJit  agi'os;  ars  liumana  gwliticavit  urbes.* 

19 


266  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

of  the  elevation  to  high  positions  of  the  agriculturists  of  the 
provinces.  Antoninus,  who  was  probably  the  most  perfect 
of  all  the  Roman  emperors,  was  through  his  whole  reign  a 
zealous  farmer. 

As  far  as  the  distant  provinces  were  concerned,  it  is  pro- 
bable that  the  Imperial  system  was  on  the  whole  a  gocd. 
The  scandalous  rapacity  of  the  provinc'al  governors,  which 
disgraced  the  closing  years  of  the  Republic,  and  which  is  im- 
mortalised by  the  indignant  eloquence  of  Cicero,  appears  to 
have  ceased,  or  at  least  greatly  diminished,  under  the  super- 
vision of  the  emperors.  Ample  municipal  freedom,  good 
roads,  and  for  the  most  part  wise  and  temperate  rulers, 
secured  for  the  distant  sections  of  the  empii-e  a  large  measure 
of  prosperity.  But  in  Italy  itself,  agriculture,  with  tht; 
habits  of  life  that  attended  it,  speedily  and  fatally  decayed. 
The  peasant  proprietor  soon  glided  hopelessly  into  debt.  The 
immense  advantages  which  slavery  gave  the  rich  gradually 
threw  nearly  all  the  Italian  soil  into  their  hands.  The 
peasant  who  ceased  to  be  proprietor  found  himself  excluded 
by  slave  labour  from  the  position  of  a  hired  cultivator,  while 
the  gratuitous  distributions  of  corn  drew  him  readily  to  the 
metropolis.  The  gigantic  scale  of  these  distributions  induced 
the  rulers  to  obtain  their  corn  in  the  form  of  a  tribute  from 
distant  countries,  chiefly  from  Africa  and  Sicily,  and  it  almost 
ceased  to  be  cultivated  in  Italy.  The  land  fell  to  waste,  or 
was  cultivated  by  slaves  or  converted  into  pasture,  and  over 
vast  tracts  the  race  of  free  peasants  entirely  disappeared. 

This  great  revolution,  which  profoundly  affected  thf 
moral  condition  of  Italy,  had  long  been  impending.  The 
debts  of  the  poor  peasants,  and  the  tendency  of  the  patricians 
to  monopolise  the  conquered  territory,  had  occasioned  some 
of  the  fiercest  contests  of  the  Republic,  and  in  the  earliest 
days  of  the  Empire  the  "blight  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  on 
she  Italian  soil  was  continually  and  pathetically  lamented. 
Liry,   Yarro,  Columella,  and   Pliuy  have  noticed  it  in  the 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  267 

Qiost  emphatic  terms,*  and  Tacitus  observed  that  as  early 
as  the  reign  of  Claudius,  Italy,  which  had  once  supplied  the 
distant  provinces  with  corn,  had  become  dependent  for  the 
very  necessaries  of  life  upon  the  winds  and  the  waves.^  The 
evil  was  indeed  of  an  almost  hopeless  kind.  Adverse  winds, 
or  any  other  accidental  interruption  of  the  convoys  of  corn, 
occasioned  severe  distress  in  the  capital ;  but  the  prospect  of 
the  calamities  that  would  ensue  if  any  misfortune  detached 
the  great  corn-growing  countries  from  the  eni])ire,  niigLt  well 
have  appalled  the  politician.  Yet  the  combined  influence  of 
slavery,  and  of  the  gi-atuitous  distributions  of  corn,  acting  in 
the  manner  I  have  described,  rendered  eveiy  effoii)  to  revive 
Italian  agriculture  abortive,  and  slavery  had  taken  such  deep 
root  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  abolish  it,  w^hile 
no  emperoi  dared  to  encounter  the  calamities  and  rebellion 
that  would  follow  a  suspension  or  even  a  restriction  of  the 
distributions.^  INIany  serious  eflbi*ts  were  made  to  remedy 
the  evil.'*  Alexander  Sevei'us  advanced  money  to  the  poor 
to  buy  portions  of  land,  and  accepted  a  grad.ual  payment 
without  interest  from  the  produce  of  the  soil.  Pertinax 
settled  poor  men  as  proprietors  on  deserted  land,  on  the  sole 
condition  that  they  should  cultiA'ate  it.  Marcus  Aurelius 
began,  and  Aurelianand  Valentinian  continued,  the  system  of 
settling  gi-eat  numbers  of  bai-barian  captives  upon  the  Italian 
soil,  and  compelling  them  as  slaves  to  till  it.  The  introduction 


'  See  a  collection  of  passages  earlier  by  Tiberius,  in  a  letter  to 

from  these  writers  in  Wallon,  Hist,  tlie  Senate.    {Annal.  iii.  54) 
deV Esciavage, tome  ii.  pp.  378-379.  ^  Augustus,  for  a  time,  contem- 

riiny,  in  the  first  century,  noticed  plated  abolishing  the  distributions, 

< Hist.  Nat.  xviii.  7)  that  the  lati-  Ijut  soon  gave  up  the  idea.     (Suet. 

fnndia,  or  system  of  large  proper-  Aug.  xlii  )     He  noticed  tliat  ^t  had 

ties,  was  ruining  both  Italy  and  ti)e  the  effect  of  causing  the  fields  tc 

provinces,  and  that  six  landlords  be  neglected. 

whom   Nero  killed  were  the  pos-  *  M.  Wallon  has  carefully  traced 

Bcssors  of  half  Roman  Africa.  this    history.       {Hist,  de   VEscluV 

2  Tacit.  Annal.  xii.   43.      The  tome  iii.  pp.  294-297.) 
Biime  complaint  had  been  made  still 


268  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

of  this  lai-ge  foreign  element  into  the  heart  of  Italy  Avaa 
eventually  one  of  the  causes  of  the  downfall  of  the  empire^ 
and  it  is  also  about  this  time  that  we  first  dimly  trace  the 
condition  of  serfdom  or  servitude  to  the  soil  into  wliich 
slavery  afterwards  faded,  and  which  was  for  some  centimes 
the  general  condition  of  the  European  poor.  But  the  econo- 
mical and  moral  causes  that  were  destroying  agricultui-e  in 
Italy  were  too  strong  to  be  resisted,  and  the  simple  habits  of 
life  wh'ch  a^icultm-al  pursuits  promote  had  little  or  no  place 
in  the  later  empire. 

A  somewhat  less  rapid  but  in  the  end  not  less  complete 
decadence  had  taken  place  in  military  life.  The  Roman  army 
was  at  first  recruited  exclusively  from  the  upper  classes,  and 
the  service,  which  lasted  only  diu'ing  actual  warfare,  was 
gi'atuitous.  Before  the  close  of  the  Bei)ublic,  however,  these 
conditions  had  disappeared.  Military  pay  is  said  to  have 
been  instituted  at  the  time  of  the  siege  of  Veil.'  Some 
Spaniards  who  were  em*olled  during  the  rivalry  of  Rome  and 
Carthage  were  the  first  example  of  the  employment  of  foreign 
mercenaries  by  the  former.^  Marius  abolished  the  pro- 
perty qualification  of  the  recruits.^  In  long  residences  in 
Spain  and  in  the  Asiitic  provinces  discipline  gi-adually  re- 
laxed, and  the  historian  who  traced  the  progress  of  Oriental 
luxury  in  Rome  dwelt  with  a  just  emphasis  upon  the  omi- 
nous fact  that  it  had  first  been  introduced  into  the  city  by 
soldiers.'*  The  civil  wars  contributed  to  the  destruction  of 
the  old  military  traditions,  but  being  conducted  by  able 
generals  it  is  probable  that  they  had  more  effect  upon  the 
patriotism  than  upon  the  discipline  of  the  army.  Augustus 
reorganised  the  whole  military  system,  establishing  a  body  of 
soldiers  known  as  the  Praetorian  guard,  and  dignified  with 
gome  special   privileges,    permanently  in    Rome,  while   the 


'  Uvy,  iv.  59-60.    Florus,  i.  12.  '  Sallust,  Bell.  Jugurth.  84-86. 

^  Livy,  xxiv.  49.  •*  Livy,  xxxix.  G. 


Tin:    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  2()9 

Dther  legions  were  cliiefly  mustered  upon  the  frontiers. 
During  his  long  reign,  and  dui-ing  that  of  Tilieriua,  both 
sections  were  quiescent,  but  the  murder  of  Caligula  by  his 
soldiers  opened  a  considerable  period  of  insubordination. 
Claudius,  it  was  observed,  first  set  the  fatal  example  of  pur- 
chasing his  safety  from  his  soldiers  by  bribes.'  The  armies 
of  the  provinces  soon  discovered  that  it  was  possible  to  elect 
an  emperor  outside  Rome,  and  Galba,  Otho,  Vitellius,  am} 
Yespasian  were  all  the  creatures  of  revolt.  The  evil  was, 
however,  not  yet  past  recovery.  Yespasian  and  Trajan  en- 
forced discipline  with  gi-eat  stringency  and  success.  The 
emperors  began  more  frequently  to  visit  the  camps.  The 
number  of  the  soldiers  was  small,  and  for  some  time  the 
turbulence  subsided.  The  history  of  the  worst  period  of  the 
Empire,  it  has  been  truly  observed,  is  full  of  instances  of  brave 
soldiers  trying,  under  circumstances  of  extreme  difficulty, 
simply  to  do  their  duty.  But  the  historian  had  soon  occasion 
to  notice  again  the  profound  influence  of  the  voluptuous 
Asiatic  cities  upon  the  legions.^  Removed  for  many  years 
from  Italy,  they  lost  all  national  pride,  their  allegia,nce  was 
transferi*ed  from  the  sovereign  to  the  general,  and  when  the 
Imperial  sceptre  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  succession  of  incom- 
petent rulers,  they  habitually  urged  their  commanders  to 
revolt,  and  at  last  reduced  the  empire  to  a  condition  of  mili- 
tary anarchy.  A  remedy  was  found  for  this  evil,  though 
not  for  the  luxurious  habits  that  had  been  acquired,  in  the 
division  of  the  empire,  which  placed  each  army  under  the 
direct  supervision  of  an  emperor,  and  it  is  probable  that  at  a 
later  period  Christianity  diminished  the  insubordination, 
though  it  may  1  ave  also  diminibhed  the  military  fii-e,  of  the 
soldiers.^     But  other  and  still  more  powerful  causes  were  in 

'  'Primus  Csesarum  fidem  mi-  ^  M.  Sismondi  thinks  that  tho 
litis  etiam  pnemio  pigneratus.' —  influence  of  Christianity  in  sub- 
Suet.  Claud.  X.  duing  the  spirit  of  revolt,  if  not  id 

2  See  Tacitus,  Annal.  xiii.  35 ;  the  army,  at  least  in  the  people, 

Hist.  ii.  69.  was  very  great.     He  says  :  '  II  est 


270  HISTOEY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

O])erat"on  preparing  the  military  do^Tifall  of  Eome.  The 
habits  of  iiiacti^dty  which  the  Imperial  policy  had  produced, 
and  which,  through  a  desire  for  popularity,  most  emperors 
laboured  to  encourage,  led  to  a  profound  disinclination  for 
the  hardships  of  military  life.  Even  the  Prtetorian  guard, 
which  was  long  exclubively  Italian,  was  selected  after  Septi- 
mus Severus  from  the  legions  on  the  frontiers,'  while,  Italy 
being  relieved  fi'om  the  regular  conscription,  these  were  re- 
cruited solely  in  the  pro^onces,  and  innumerable  barbarians 
were  subsidised.  The  political  and  military  consequences  of 
this  change  are  sufficiently  obvious.  In  an  age  when, 
artillery  being  unknown,  the  military  superiority  of  civilised 
nations  over  barbarians  was  far  less  than  at  present,  the 
Italians  had  become  absolutely  unaccustomed  to  real  war,  and 
had  acquii-ed  habits  that  were  beyond  all  others  incompati))le 
with  military  discipline,  while  many  of  the  barbarians  who 
menaced  and  at  last  subverted  the  empii-e  had  been  actua'ly 
trained  by  Roman  generals.  The  moral  consequence  is 
equally  plain — military  discipline,  like  agricultm-al  labour, 
ceased  to  have  any  part  among  the  moral  influences  of  Italy. 
To  those  who  have  duly  estimated  the  considerations  I 
have  enumerated,  the  downfall  and  moral  debasement  of  the 
empire  can  cause  no  sui-prise,  though  they  may  justly  wonder 
that  its  agony  should  have  been  so  protracted,  that  it  should 
have  produced  a  multitude  of   good   and   great  men,  both 


remarqiiable  qu'en  cinq  ans,  sept  et  tant  le  monde  romain  semLloit 

pretendans    au    trone,    tous     bien  determine  a  periravecun  raonarqua 

superieurs  a  Honorius  en  courage,  imbecile    plutot    que  tfnte   de   se 

eu  talens    et  en  vertns,  farent  .  uc-  dunner   un    saureur.' — H;st.  de   la 

cesaivement  envoyes  captifs  a  Ea-  Chute  de  UEnipire  romain.  tomei. 

vt-nne  ou  punis  de  inort,  que   le  p.  221. 

peuple   applaudit    toujours   a   ces  '  Sc^e  Gibbon,  ch.  v. ;  Merirale'i 

jugemens  et  ne  se  separa   point  de  Hist,  of  Rome,  ch.  Ixvii.      It  waa 

Tauturite  legitime,  tant  la  doctrine  thought  that  troops  thus  selected 

du    droit   divin   des   rois   que  les  would    be   less    likely   to    revolt 

evequesavoientcommence  aprecher  Constantine  abolished  the  Prfeto 

sous  T'aeodosc  avoit  fait  de  progres,  rians. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  271 

pagan  and  Christian,  and  that  these  should  have  exercised 
BO  wide  an  influence  as  they  unquestionably  did.  Almost 
every  institution  or  pursuit  by  which  vii^tuous  habits  would 
natai-ally  have  been  formed  had  been  tainted  or  destroyed, 
while  agencies  of  terrific  power  were  impelling  the  people  to 
vice.  The  rich,  excluded  from  most  honourable  paths  of  am- 
bition, and  surrounded  by  countless  parasites  who  inflamed 
their  every  passion,  found  themselves  absolute  masters  of  in- 
numerable slaves  who  were  their  willing  ministers,  and  often 
their  teachers,  in  vice.  The  poor,  hatiug  industry  and  de- 
stitute of  all  intellectual  resources,  lived  in  habitual  idleness, 
and  looked  upon  abject  servility  as  the  normal  road  to 
fortune.  But  the  picture  becomes  truly  appalling  when  we 
remember  that  the  main  amusement  of  both  classes  was  the 
spectacle  of  bloodshed,  of  the  death,  and  sometimes  of  the 
torture,  of  men. 

The  gladlatoidal  games  form,  iudeed,  the  one  feature  of 
"Roman  society  which  to  a  modern  mind  is  almost  iaconceiv- 
able  iu  its  atrocity.  That  not  only  men,  but  women,  in  an 
advanced  i^eriod  of  civilisation — men  and  vv^omen  who  not 
only  professed  but  very  frequently  acted  upon  a  high  code  of 
morals — should  have  made  the  carnage  of  men  their  habitual 
amusement,  that  all  this  should  have  continued  for  centuries, 
with  scarcely  a  protest,  is  one  of  the  most  startling  facts  in 
moral  history,  it  is,  however,  perfectly  normal,  and  in  no 
degree  inconsistent  with  the  doctrine  of  natural  moral  per- 
ceptions, while  it  opens  out  fields  of  ethical  enquiry  of  a  very 
deep  thougn  painful  iuterest. 

These  games,  which  long  eclipsed,  both  in  iaterest  and  in 
mfluence,  every  other  form  of  public  amusement  at  Kome,* 


^  The    gladijitorial    shows   aro  the   Saturnalia  of  Justus  Lipsius, 

treated  incidentally  by  most  Roman  Magnin,    Origincs  dii    Thtatre  (an 

liistorians,  but  the  three  works  from  extremely  learned  and  iuteresdng 

vhich  I  have  derived  most  assist-  book,  which  was   imhappily  never 

BjGce  in  this  part  of  my  subject  are  completed),      and      Friedlaeuder's 


272 


HISTOIIY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


were  originaliy  religious  ceremonies  celebi-atecl  at  tlie  lomba 
of  the  great,  and  intended  as  human  sacrifices  to  appease  the 
Manes  of  the  dead,'  They  were  afterwards  defended  as  a 
means  of  sustaining  the  military  spirit  by  the  constant  spec- 
tacle of  courageous  death,^  and  with  this  object  it  was 
cust/jmary  to  give  a  gladiatorial  show  to  soldiei*s  before  theii 
departure  to  a  war.^  In  addition  to  these  functions  they  had 
a  considerable  political  importance,  for  at  a  time  when  all 
the  regular  organs  of  liberty  were  paralysed  or  abolished,  the 
ruler  was  accustomed  in  the  arena  to  meet  tens  of  thousands 
of  his  subjects,  who  availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to 
present  their  petitions,  to  declare  their  grievances,  and  to 
censure  freely  the  sovereign  or  his  ministers.'*     The  games 


Boman  Manners  from.  Augiistus  to 
the  Anioirivcs  (the  second  volume  of 
the  Trench  translation).  M,  Wallou 
has  also  comjjresse.l  into  a  few 
pages  (7//.>7.  de  l Esclavogc,  tome  ii. 
pp.  129-139)  much  information  on 
the  siiljoct. 

'  Hence  the  old  name  of  hus- 
tuarii  (from  hustum,  a  funeral  pile) 
given  to  gladiators  (Nieupoort,  De 
Eitibiis  Romanorum,  p.  514).  Ac- 
cording to  Pliny  {Hist.  Nat.  xxx.  3), 
•  regular  human  sacrifices  were  only 
abolished  in  Rome  by  a  decree  of 
the  senate,  B.C.  97,'  and  there  are 
some  instances  of  them  at  a  still 
later  period.  Much  information 
about  them  is  collected  by  Sir 
C.  Lewis,  Creclihiltty  of  'Roman 
History,  vol.  ii.  p.  480;  Merivale, 
Conversion  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
pp  230-233  ;  Legendre.  Traite  de 
V Opinion,  vol.  i.  pp.  229-231 .  Por- 
phyry, in  his  De  Alistinentia  Carnis, 
ievoted  considerable  research  to 
rhis  matter.  Games  were  habi- 
tually celebrated  by  wealthy  private 
individuals,  during  the  ear'ypart  of 
the  empire,  at  the  funerals  of  their 
relatives,  but  their  mortuary  cha- 


racter gradually  ceased,  and  after 
Marcus  Aurelius  they  had  become 
mere  puldic  spectacles,  and  were 
rarely  celebrated  at  Rome  by  pri- 
vate men.  [S^-e  Wallon.  Hist,  de 
r Ksclav.  tome  ii.  pp.  13.0-136.) 
The  games  had  then  really  passed 
into  their  purely  secular  stage, 
though  they  were  still  nominally 
dedicated  to  Mars  and  Diana,  and 
though  an  altar  of  Jupiter  Latiaria 
stood  ill  the  centre  of  the  arena. 
(N:eupoort,  p.  365.) 

■^  Cicero,  2 use.  lib.  ii. 

^  Capitolinus,  Maxinuis  et  Bal- 
binus.  Capitolinus  says  this  is  the 
most  probable  origin  of  the  custom, 
though  others  regarded  it  as  a  sacri- 
fice to  appease  Nemesi^^yan  offer- 
ing of  blood. 

■'  Much  curious  information  on 
this  subject  maybe  found  in  Fried-* 
Isender,  Moevrs  roviaives,  liv,  vi.  ch. 
i.  Very  few  Roman  emperors  ven- 
tured to  disregard  or  to  repress 
these  outcries,  and  they  led  to  the 
fall  of  several  of  the  most  powerful 
ministers  of  the  empire.  On  the 
whole  these  games  represent  the 
strai^gest  and   mopl    ghastly  foim 


TITB   PAGAN    EMPIRE.  273 

^e  saifl  to  b;iV3  been  of  Etruscan  origin;  they  were  fii-st 
introduced  into  Rome,  B.C.  264,  when  the  two  sons  of  a  man 
named  Brutus  compelled  three  pair  of  gladiators  to  fight  at 
the  funeral  of  their  father,*  and  before  the  close  of  the 
Bepublic  they  were  common  on  great  public  occasions,  and, 
A'hat  appears  even  more  horrible,  at  the  banquets  of  the 
nobles. 2  The  rivalry  of  Caesar  and  Pompey  greatly  multi- 
plied them,  for  each  sought  by  this  means  to  ingratiate  him- 
self with  the  people.  Pompey  introduced  a  new  form  of 
combat  between  men  and  animals.^  Caesar  abolished  the  old 
custom  of  restricting  the  mortuary  games  to  the  funerals  of 
men,  and  his  daughter  was  the  first  Roman  lady  whose  tomb 
was  desecrated  by  human  blood.'*  Besides  this  innovation, 
Caesar  replaced  the  temporary  edifices  in  which  the  games 
had  hitherto  been  held  by  a  permanent  wooden  amphitheatre, 
shaded  the  spectators  by  an  awning  of  precious  silk,  compelled 
the  condemned  persons  on  one  occasion  to  fight  with  silver 
lances,^  and  drew  so  many  gladiators  into  the  city  that  the 
Senate  was  obliged  to  issue  an  enactment  restricting  theii- 
number.^  In  the  earliest  ye^rs  of  the  Empii-e,  Statilius 
Taurus  erected  the  first  amphitheatre  of  stone.'     Augustus 


political  liberty  has  ever  assumed,  tolinus,  Verus.)  See,  too,  Athenaeus, 

On   the    other    hand,   the    people  iv.  40,  41. 

readily  bartered  all  genuine  freedom  ^  Senee.  De  Brevit.  Vit.  c.  xiii. 

for  abundant  ^ames.  ••  Sueton.  J.  Ccesar,  xxvi.  Pliny 

'  Valer.  Maximns,  ii.  4,  §  7.  {Ep.  vi.  34)  commends  a  friend  for 

2  On  the  gladiators  at  banquets,  having  given  a  show  in  memory  of 

5,ee  J.  Lipsius,  Saturnalia,  lib.  i..  c.  his  departed  wife. 
vi.,Magnin;  Origines  dii    Theatre,  *  Pliny,   Hist.  Nat.   xxxiii.    16. 

pp.  380-385.     Tiiis  was  originally  *  Sueton.  Ccesar,  x. ;  Dion  Cas- 

an   Etruscan   custom,    and  it   was  sius,  xliii.  24. 

also  very  common   at  Capua.     As  ^  Sueton.  Aug.  xxix.     The  his- 

Silius  Italicus  sa\s: —  tory  of  the  amphitheatres  is  given 

'  Exhdarare  viris  convivia  esede  very  minutely  by  Friedlsender,  whO; 

Mos  olim,  et  miscere  epulis  spec-  like   nearly   all    other  antiquaries, 

tacula  (lira.'  beiieves  this  to  haA'e  been  the  first 

Verus,    the    colleague    of    Marcus  of  stone.     Pliny  mentions  the  ex- 

Aurelius,  was  especially  addicted  to  istence,  at  an  earlier  period,  of  two 

this  kind  of  entertainment.    (Capi-  connected  wooden  theatres,  which 


274  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

ordered  that  not  more  than  120  men  should  fight  on  a  single 
occa.sion,  and  that  no  praetor  should  give  more  than  t^ro 
spectacles  in  a  single  year,*  and  Tiberius  again  fixed  tlje 
maximum  of  combatants,^  but  notwithstanding  these  attemj>ta 
to  limit  them  the  games  soon  acquired  the  most  gigantic  pro- 
portions. They  were  celebrated  habitually  by  gi-eat  men  in 
honour  of  their  dead  relatives,  by  officials  on  coming  into 
ofiice,  by  conquerors  to  secure  popularity,  and  on  every 
occasion  of  public  rejoicing,  and  by  rich  tradesmeu  who  were 
desii'ous  of  acquii^ing  a  social  position. ^  They  were  also 
among  the  attractions  of  the  public  baths.  Schools  of  gladia- 
tors— often  the  private  propei-ty  of  rich  citizens — existed  in 
every  leading  city  of  Italy,  and,  besides  slaves  and  criminals, 
they  were  thronged  with  freemen,  who  voluntarily  hii-ed 
themselves  for  a  term  of  years.  In  the  eyes  of  multitudes, 
the  large  sums  that  were  paid  to  the  victor,  the  patronage  of 
nobles  and  often  of  emperors,  and  still  more  the  delirium  of 
popular  enthusiasm  that  centred  upon  the  successful  gladia- 
tor, outweighed  all  the  dangers  of  the  profession.  A  com- 
plete recklessness  of  life  was  soon  engendered  both  in  the 
spectators  and  the  combatants.  The  'lauistse,'  or  pui-veyors 
of  gladiators,  became  an  important  profession.  Wandering 
bands  of  gladiators  traversed  Italy,  hiring  themselves  for  the 
provincial  amphitheatres.  The  influence  of  the  games  gi-adu- 
ally  pervaded  the  whole  texture  of  Roman  life.  They 
became  the  common-place  of  conversation.*  The  children 
imitated  them  in  their  play.®     The  philosophers  drew  hoin 

swung  round  on  hmj^es  and  formed  made    another     slight    restriction 

an  amphitheatre.  (ir^5J!.  iVc(^.  xxxvi.  (Tacit.  ^w??a/.  xiii.  31),  which  ap- 

2  1. 1  pears  to  have  been  little  obserA'ed. 

'  Dion  Cassius,  liv.  2,     It  ap-  ^  Martial    notices   {Ep.  iii.  59) 

pears,  however,   from    an   inscrip-  and  ridicules  a  spectacle  given  by 

tion,  that  10,000  gladiators  fought  a  shoemaker  at  Bologna,  and  by  a 

in  the  reign   and  by  the  command  fuller  at  Modena. 
of  Augustus.      Wallcn,   Hist,    de  *  Epictetns,  Enchir.  xxxui.  ^  ^ 

V  Ksclavage,  tome,  ii.  p.  133.  ^  Arrian,  iii.  15. 

'^  8u',ton.    Tiber,  xxxiv.     Nero 


THE    TAG  AN    EMriRE,  270 

them  their  metaphors  and  illustrations.  The  artists  pour- 
fcrayed  them  in  every  variety  of  ornament.'  The  vestal 
vii-gins  had  a  seat  of  honour  in  the  arena. ^  The  Colosseum, 
which  is  said  to  have  been  capable  of  containing  more  than 
80,000  spectators,  eclipsed  every  other  monument  of  Imperial 
splendour,  and  is  even  now  at  once  the  most  imposing  an:l 
the  most  characteristic  relic  of  pagan  Rome. 

In  the  provinces  the  same  passion  was  displayed.  From 
Gaul  to  Syiia,  wherever  the  Roman  influence  extended,  the 
spectacles  of  b^.ood  were  introduced,  and  the  gigantic  remains 
of  amphitheatres  in  many  lands  still  attest  by  tbeii*  ruined 
grandeur  the  sca^e  on  which  they  were  pui-sued.  In  the 
reign  of  Tiberius,  more  than  20,000  persons  are  said  to  have 
perished  by  the  fall  of  the  amphitheatre  at  the  suburban  town 
of  Fidense.^  Under  Nero,  the  Syi'acusans  obtained,  as  a 
special  favour,  an  exemption  from  the  law  which  limited  the 
number  of  gladiators.'*  Of  the  vast  train  of  prisoners  brought 
by  Titus  fi'om  Judea,  a  large  proportion  were  destined  by  the 
conqueror  for  the  provincial  games.^  In  Syi'ia,  where  they 
were  introduced  by  Antiochus  Epiphanes,  they  at  first  pro- 
duced rather  terror  than  p^.easure  ;  but  the  efieminate  Syrians 
soon  learned  to  contemplate  them  wi'th  a  passionate  enjoy- 
ment,^ and  on  a  single  occasion  Agi*ippa  caused  1,400  men  to 
fight  in  the  amphitheatre  at  Berytus.'^     Greece  alone  was  in 


'  See    these    points     minutely  '  Sueton.  l^iherius,  xl.    Tacitus, 

proved  iu  Friedlasndrr.  -who  gives  a  graphic  description  oi 

2  Suet.   Alto.    xliv.      This  "was  the   disaster    (Annal.    iv.    62-63), 

rioticed    before    by    Cicero.      The  says  50,000  persons  were  killed  or 

Christian  poet  Prudentius  dwelt  on  wounded 

this  aspect  of  the  games  iu  some  •*  Tacit.  Annal.  xiii.  49. 

forcible  lines : —  ^  Joseph.  Bell.  Jud.  xi.  9. 

Virgo    modesta    jubet     converso  /Seethe  very  curious   picture 

pollice  rumpi  "^^'^^  ^^"^  ^^^s  given   (xh.  20)  of 

Ne  lateat  pars  ulla  animse  vitalibus  ^he  growth  of  the  fascination. 


imis 
Altius  impresso  dum  palpitat  ense 
Eocutor.' 


Joseph.  Antiq.  Jud.  xix.  7 


276  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

some  degree  an  exception.  When  an  attempt  was  made  to 
introduce  the  spectacle  into  Athens,  the  cynic  philosophei 
Demonax  appealed  successfully  to  the  better  feelings  of  the 
people  by  exclaiming,  *  You  must  first  overthrow  the  altar'of 
Pity.' '  The  g:imes  are  said  to  have  afterwards  penetrated  to 
Athens,  and  to  have  been  suppressed  by  Apollonius  of 
Tyana;^  but  with  the  exception  of  Corinth,  where  a  very 
large  foreign  population  existed,  Greece  never  appears  to 
have  shared  the  general  enthusiasm.^ 

One  of  the  fii-st  consequences  of  this  taste  was  to  render 
the  people  absolutely  unfit  for  those  tranquil  and  refined 
amusements  which  usually  accompany  civilisation.  To  men 
who  were  accustomed  to  witness  the  fierce  vicissitudes  of 
deadly  combat,  any  spectacle  that  did  not  elicit  the  strongest 
excitement  was  insipid.  The  only  amusements  that  at  all 
rivalled  the  spectacles  of  the  amphitheatre  and  the  circus 
were  those  which  appealed  strongly  to  the  sensual  passions, 
such  as  the  games  of  Flora,  the  postures  of  the  pantomimes, 
and  the  ballet.'*  Koman  comedy,  indeed,  flourished  for  a 
shoi-t  period,  but  only  by  thi-owing  itself  into  the  same 
career.  The  pander  and  the  courtesan  are  the  leading 
characters  of  Plautus,  and  the  more  modest  Terence  never 
attained  an  equal  popularity.  The  difierent  forms  of  vice 
have  a  continual  tendency  to  act  and  react  upon  one  another, 
and  the  mtense  craving  after  excitement  which  the  amphi- 
theatre must  necessaiily  have  produced,  had  probably  no 


'  Lucian,  Detnonax.  for  ten  years,  in  consequence  of  a 

-  Philost.  Apoll.  iv.  22.  riot  that  broke  out  during  a  gladi^- 

3  Friedlsender,  tome  ii.  pp.  95-  torial    show.     (Tacit.    Aniial.   xiv. 

96.     There  are,    however,   several  17.)     After  tbe  defeat  of  Perseuj, 

extant  Greek  inscriptions  relating  Paulus  Emilius  celebrated  a  show 

to  gladiators,  and  proving  the  ex-  in  Macedonia.     (Li^-}',  xli.  20  ) 
istence   of    the   shows   in   Greece.  ■•  These  are  fully  discussed   by 

Pompeii,  which  was  a  Greek  colony,  Magnin   and  Friedlsender.     There 

had  a  vast  amphitheatre,  which  xe  is  a  A'ery  beautiful  description  of  a 

may  still  admire;  and, under  Nero,  ballet,  representing  tlie  '  Juilgment 

games  were  prohibited  at  Pompeii  of  Paris,' in  Apuleius,  il/i!?i'rtwcrp^.Xi 


TKE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  277 

61B  ill  influence  in  stimulating  the  orgies  of  sensuality  v.'liich 
Tacitus  and  Suetonius  describe. 

But  if  comedy  could  to  a  certain  extent  flourish  \v;th  the 
gladiatorial  games,  it  was  not  so  with  tragedy.  It  is,  indeedj 
true  that  the  tragic  actor  can  exhibit  displays  of  more  intense 
agony  and  of  a  gi-ander  heroism  than  were  ever  witnessed  iii 
the  arena.  His  mission  is  not  to  paint  nature  as  it  exists  in 
the  light  of  day,  but  nature  as  it  exists  in  the  heart  of  man. 
His  gestures,  his  tones,  liis  looks,  are  such  as  would  never 
have  been  exhibited  by  the  person  he  represents,  but  they 
display  to  the  audience  the  full  intensity  of  the  emotions 
which  that  person  would  have  felt,  but  which  he  would  have 
been  unable  adequately  to  reveal.  But  to  those  who  were 
habituated  to  the  intense  realism  of  the  amphitheatre,  the 
idealised  suflering  of  the  stage  was  unimpressive.  All  the 
genius  of  a  Siddons  or  a  Bistori  would  fail  to  move  an 
audience  who  had  continually  seen  living  men  fa'l  bleeding 
and  mangled  at  their  feet.  One  of  the  first  functions  of  the 
stage  is  to  raise  to  the  highest  point  the  susceptibility  to 
disgust.  AVhen  Horace  said  that  Medea  should  not  kill  her 
children  upon  the  stage,  he  enunciated  not  a  mere  arbitrary 
rule,  but  one  which  grov*^s  necessarily  out  of  the  development 
of  the  drama.  It  is  an  essential  characteristic  of  a  refined 
and  cultivated  taste  to  be  shocked  and  oflfended  at  the  spec- 
tacle of  bloodshed  ;  and  the  theatre,  which  somewhat  danger- 
ously dissociates  sentiment  from  action,  and  causes  men  to 
waste  theii-  compassion  on  ideal  sufferings,  is  at  least  a  barrier 
against  the  extreme  forms  of  cruelty  by  developing  thia 
susceptibility  to  the  highest  degree.  The  gladiatorial  games, 
on.  the  other  hand,  destroyed  all  sense  of  disgust,  and  there- 
fore all  refinement  of  taste,  and  they  rendered  the  permanent 
triu]Q[jh  of  the  drama  impossible.' 


'  Paciirius  and  Accius  were  the  is  the  only  Roman  historian  who 
fouuders  of  Roman  iragedy.  The  pays  any  attention  to  literary  his- 
abridger,  Velieius  Paterculus.  who     tory,  boasts  that  the  latter  might 


278  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

It  is  abundantly  evident,  both  from  history  and  fiom 
present  experience,  that  the  instinctive  shock,  or  natural 
feeling  of  disgust,  caused  by  the  sight  of  the  sufferings  of  men 
is  not  generically  different  from  that  which  is  caused  by  the 
sight  of  the  sufferings  of  animals.  The  latter,  to  those  whc 
are  not  accustomed  to  it,  is  intensely  painful.  The  former 
continually  becomes  by  use  a  matter  of  absolute  indifference. 
If  the  repugnance  which  is  felt  in  the  one  case  appears 
gieater  than  in  the  other,  it  is  not  on  account  of  any  innate 
sentiment  which  commands  us  to  reverence  our  species,  but 
simply  because  our  imagination  finds  less  difficulty  in  reali- 
sing human  than  animal  suffering,  and  also  because  education 
has  strengthened  our  feelings  in  the  one  case  much  more  than 
in  the  other.  There  is,  however,  no  fact  more  clearly  estab- 
lished than  that  when  men  have  regarded  it  as  not  a  crime 
to  kill  some  class  of  their  fellow-men,  they  have  soon  learnt 
to  do  so  with  no  more  natural  compunction  or  hesitation 
than  they  would  exliibit  in  killing  a  wild  animal.  This  is 
the  normal  condition  of  savage  men.  Colonists  and  Red 
Indians  even  now  often  shoot  each  other  with  pi-ccisely  the 
same  indifference  as  they  shoot  beasts  of  pi'ey,  and  the  whole 
history  of  Avarfare — especially  when  warfare  was  conducted 
on  more  savage  piincipies  than  at  present — is  an  illustration 
of  the  fact.  Startling,  therefore,  as  it  may  now  appear,  it  is 
in  no  degree  rmnatm-al  that  Roman  spectators  should  have 
contemplated  with  perfect  ecpianimity  the  slaughter  of  men. 
The  Spaniard,  who  is  brought  in  infancy  to  the  bull-ring, 
soon  learns  to  gaze  with  indifference  or  with  pleasure  upon 
sights  before  which  the  unpractised  eye  of  the  stranger  quails 
with  hoiTor,  and  the  same  process  would  be  equally  efficacious 
had  the  spectacle  been  the  sufferings  of  men. 

"We  now  look  back  with  indigna.tion  upon  this  indifference ; 


rank    honourably   with    the    best     plus  videatur  fuisse   sanguinis.'— 
Greek  tragedians.     He  adds,  'utin     Hist.  Horn.  ii.  9. 
illis  [the  Greeks]  limse,  in  hoc  pcene 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  279 

but  yet,  although  it  may  be  hard  to  realise,  it  is  probably 
true  that  there  is  scarcely  a  human  being  who  mght  not  by 
cusfcom  be  so  iadurated  as  to  share  it.  Had  the  most  bene- 
Toient  person  lived  in  a  country  in  which  the  innocence  of 
these  games  was  deemed  axiomatic,  had  he  been  taken  to 
them  in  his  very  childhood,  and  accustomed  to  associate  them 
with  his  earliest  dreams  of  romance,  and  had  he  then  been 
left  simply  to  the  play  of  the  emotions,  the  first  paroxysm  of 
horror  would  have  soon  subsided,  the  shrinking  repugnance 
that  followed  would  have  grown  weaker  and  weaker,  the 
feeling  of  interest  would  have  been  aroused,  and  the  time 
would  probably  come  in  which  it  would  reign  alone.  But 
even  this  absolute  indiiFerence  to  the  sight  of  human  suffering 
does  not  represent  the  full  evil  resulting  from  the  gladiatorial 
games.  That  some  men  are  so  constituted  as  to  be  capable 
of  taking  a  real  and  lively  pleasure  in  the  simple  contem- 
plation of  suffering  as  suffering,  and  without  any  reference  to 
their  own  interests,  is  a  proposition  which  has  been  strenu- 
ously denied  by  those  in  whose  eyes  vice  is  nothing  more 
than  a  displacement,  or  exaggeration,  of  lawful  self- regarding 
feelings,  and  others,  who  have  admitted  the  reality  of  the 
phenomenon,  have  treated  it  as  a  very  rare  and  exceptional 
disease.  *  That  it  is  so — at  least  in  its  extreme  forms — in  the 
present  condition  of  society,  may  reasonably  be  hoped,  though 
I  imagine  that  few  persons  who  have  watched  the  habits  of 
boys  would  question  that  to  take  pleasure  in  giving  at  least 
some  degree  of  pain  is  sufficiently  common,  and  though  it 
is  not  quite  certain  that  all  the  sports  of  adult  men  would  be 
entered  into  with  exactly  the  same  zest  if  their  victims  were 
not  sentient  beings.  But  in  every  society  in  which  atrocious 
punishments  have  been   common,  this  side  of  human  nature 


'Thus,  e.g.,  Hobbes :  'Aliense  quis  sibi  plaeeat   in   malis  alieni? 

cnlamitatis   contemptus  nominatur  sine   alio    fine,    videtur   mi  hi  im- 

erudelitas,  proceditque  a   proprise  possibile.' — Leviathan, -pars  i.  c.  yi, 
Becuriiati?  opinions^     Nam  ut  ali- 


280  HISTORY    OF    ELEOrEAN    MORALS. 

has  acquired  an  undoubted  prominence.  It  is  related  of 
Claudius  that  his  special  delight  at  the  gladiatorial  shows 
was  in  watchin-g  the  countenances  of  the  dying,  for  he  had 
learnt  to  take  an  artistic  pleasure  in  observing  the  variations 
cf  their  agony.'  When  the  gladiator  lay  prostrate  it  was 
(uistomary  for  the  spectators  to  give  the  sign  with  their 
thumbs,  indicating  whether  they  desired  him  to  be  spared  or 
slain,  and  the  giver  of  the  show  reaped  most  popularity 
when,  in  the  latter  case,  he  permitted  no  consideration  of 
economy  to  make  him  hesitate  to  sanction  the  popular 
award.  2 

Besides  this,  the  mere  de^sire  for  novelty  impelled  the 
people  to  every  excess  or  refinement  of  barbarity.^  The 
simple  combat  became  at  last  insipid,  and  every  variety  of 
atrocity  was  devised  to  stimulate  the  flagging  interest.  At 
one  time  a  bear  and  a  l)ull,  chained  together,  rolled  in  fierce 
contest  along  the  sand  ;  at  another,  criminals  dressed  in  the 
skins  of  wild  beasts  were  thrown  to  bulls,  which  were  mad- 
dened by  red-hot  irons,  or  by  darts  tipped  with  burning 
pitch.  Four  hundred  bears  were  killed  on  a  single  day  imder 
Caligula ;  three  hundred  on  another  day  under  Claudius. 
Under  Nero,  four  hundred  tigers  fought  with  bulls  and  ele- 
phants;  four  hundred  bears  and  thiee  hundred  lions  were 
slaughtered  by  his  soldiers.  In  a  single  day,  at  the  dedication 
of  the  Colosseum  by  Titus,  five  thousand  animals  perished. 
Under  Trajan,  the  games  contini-ed  for  one  hundred  and 
twenty-three  successive  days."*     Lions,  tigers,  elephants,  rhi- 

'  Sueton.  Claudius,  xxxiv.  little     book,    Dp.    S/jectacidis,    by 

„         ^  _,                  „.          ,   .  Martial — a  book  wLieh  is  not  more 

^      'Et  .-^rso  polhce  vulgi  j^^^^,-^^^^  ^^^^  ^j^^  atrocities  it  re- 

auemnbetocciduntpopulanter.-  ^^^^^^^  ^j^^^^  f^,^^  ^,^^     ^^^^^^  ^^ 

Juveual,  Sat.  m.  36-37.  ^     ^  ^^^^^  ^f^^H  j^^^^^g  ^f  repnlsion  ot 

^  Besides   the  many  incidental  compassion  it  evfrvwhere  displays. 

notices  scattered  through  the  Eo-  ■»  These  are  but  a  few  of  the  many 

man  historians,    and    through  the  examples  given   by   Magnin,    who 

writings  of  Seneca,  Plutarch,  Jure-  has  collected  a  vast  array  of  au- 

nal,  and  Pliny,  we  have  a  curious  thonties  on  the  subject.     {Origines 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE. 


281 


iiocfToser,,  liij^jopotami,  giraffes,  bulls,  stags,  even  ci-ocodilea 
and  serpents,  were  employed  to  give  novelty  to  the  spectaclo 
Kor  was  any  form  of  human  suffering  wanting.  The  first 
Gordian,  when  edile,  gave  twelve  spectacles,  in  each  of  wh'ch 
frcin  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  five  hundred  paii'  of  gladiators 
apj)eared.*  Eight  hundred  pair  fought  at  the  tiiumph  of 
Aurelian.-  Ten  thousand  men  fought  during  the  games  of 
Trajan.'  Nero  illumined  his  gardens  during  the  night  by 
Christians  burning  in  their  pitchy  shirts.'*  Under  Domitian. 
an  army  of  feeble  dwarfs  v/as  compelled  to  fight,-''  and,  more 
than  once,  female  gladiators  descended  to  perish  in  the  arena. ^ 
A  criminal  personating  a  fictitious  character  was  nailed  to  a 
cross,  and  there  torn  by  a  bear,^  Another,  representing 
Scaevola,  was  compelled  to  hold  his  hand  in  a  renl  fiame.^  A 
third,  as  Hercules,  was  burnt  alive  upon  the  pile.^   So  intense 


clu  TJudtre,  pp.  445-4o3.)  M. 
Mongez  has  devoted  an  interesting 
memoir  to  '  Les  animaux  pr(jmenes 
ou  tues  dans  le  cirque.'  (Mhn.  dc 
/"Acad,  des  Inscrip.  et  BeUcs-lettrcs, 
tomex  )  See.too, Fricdliendf-r.  Phny 
rarely  gives  an  account  of  any  wild 
animal  without  accompanying  it  liy 
statistics  about  its  appearances  in 
the  arena.  The  first  in^^tance  of  a 
wild  beast  hunt  in  the  amphitlieatre 
is  said  to  be  that  recorded  by  Livy 
(xxxix.  22),  which  took  place  about 
80  B  c. 

'  Capitolinus,  Gordiani. 

"^  Vopiscus,  Aur  lian. 

'  Xiphilin.  Ixviii.  1.3. 

*  Tacit.  Annal.  xv.  14. 

••  Xiphilin,  Ixvii.  8 ;  Statins, 
Sylo.  i.  6. 

"  During  the  Eepublic,  a  rich 
man  ordered  in  his  will  that 
Bome  women  he  had  purchased  for 
the  purpose  should  fight  in  the 
faneral  games  to  his  memory,  but 
the  people  annulled  the  clause. 
(Athu2i8tus,  iv.   39.)     Under  Nero 


and  Domitian,  female  gladiators 
seem  to  liave  been  not  uncommon. 
See  Statins,  Sylo.  i.  6 ;  Sueton. 
Duinitian.  iv. ;  Xiphilin,  lx^•^i.  8, 
Juvenal  describes  the  enthusias^m 
with  whiih  Roman  ladies  practised 
with  the  gladiatorial  weapons  (5fi^. 
vi.  248,  &c.),  and  Martial  {De 
Si  eciac.  ^^.)  mentions  the  combats 
of  women  with  wild  beasts.  One, 
he  says,  killed  a  lion.  A  combat 
of  female  gladiators,  under  Severus, 
created  some  tumult,  and  it  was 
decreed  that  they  should  no  longer 
be  permitted.  (Xiphilin,  Ixxv.  IG.) 
See  Magnin,  pp  434-435, 
'  Martial,  De  S-pcctac.  vii. 

8  Ibid.  Ep.  viii.  30. 

9  TertuUian,  Ad  Nniion.  i.  10. 
One  of  the  most  ghastly  features 
of  the  games  was  the  comic  aspect 
they  sometimes  assumed.  This  waj 
the  case  in  the  comljats  of  dwarfs. 
There  were  also  combats  by  blind- 
folded men.  'Peivomns  {Sat t/runn, 
c.  xlv.)  has  given  us  a  horrible  de- 
scription of  the  maimed  and  feeblf 


20 


282  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

was  the  craving  for  blood,  that  a  prince  was  less  unpopular  if 
he  neglected  the  distribution  of  corn  than  if  he  neglected  the 
games  ;  and  Nero  himself,  on  account  of  his  munificence  in 
tliis  respect,  was  probably  the  sovereign  who  was  most 
beloved  by  the  Roman  multitude.  Heliogabalus  and  Galerius 
are  reported,  when  dining,  to  have  regaled  themselves  \\dtli 
the  sight  of  criminals  torn  by  wild  beasts.  It  was  said  of  the 
latter  that  'he  never  supped  without  human  blood.'* 

It  is  well  for  us  to  look  steadily  on  such  fticts  as  these. 
They  display  more  vi%4dly  than  any  mere  philosophical  dis- 
quisition the  abyss  of  depravity  into  wliich  it  is  possible  for 
human  nature  to  sink.  They  furnish  us  with  stiiking  proofs 
of  the  reality  of  the  moral  progi*ess  we  have  attained,  and 
they  enable  us  in  some  degree  to  estimate  the  regenerating 
influence  that  Christianity  has  exercised  in  the  woi-ld.  For 
the  destruction  of  the  gladiatorial  games  is  all  its  work. 
Philosophers,  indeed,  might  deplore  them,  gentle  natures 
might  shi'ink  from  their  contagion,  but  to  the  multitude  they 
possessed  a  fascination  which  nothing  but  the  new  religion 
could  overcome. 

Nor  was  this  fascination  sirrprising,  for  no  pageant  has 
ever  combined  more  powerful  elements  of  attraction.  The 
magnificent  circus,  the  gorgeous  dresses  of  the  assembled 
Coui-t,  the  contagion  of  a  passionate  enthusiasm  thrilling 
almost  visibly  through  the  mighty  throng,  the  breathless 
silence  of  expectation,  the  wild  cheers  bursting  simultaneously 
from  eighty  thousand  tongues,  and  echomg  to  the  farthest 
outskirts  cf  the  city,  the  rapid  alternations  of  the  fray,  the 


men  who  \rere  sometimps  com-  '  '  Ncc  unquam  sine  hnrnauo 
pelled  to  fight.  People  afflictt^d  cruore  ccenahat.' — Lactan.  De  Mort. 
with  epilepsy  were  accustomed  to  Fcrscc.  Much  the  same  thing  is 
drink  the  blood  of  the  wounded  told  of  the  Christian  emperor  Jus- 
gladiators,  which  they  believed  to  tinian  II..  who  lived  at  the  end  of 
be  a  sovereign  remedy.  (Pliny,  the  seventh  century.  (Sismondi, 
Hist.  Nat.  xxAiii.  2 ;  Tertul.  Hut,  de  la  Chute  de  VEmpira 
Ajiol.ix.)  Romaiji,  tome  ii.  p.  85.) 


THE    PAGAN    E-MriRE.  283 

deeds  of  sp^-endid  courage  that  were  manifested,  were  all  we!] 
fitted  to  entrance  the  imagination.  The  crimes  and  servitude 
of  the  gladiator  were  for  a  time  forgotten  in  the  blaze  of 
glory  that  surrounded  him.  Representing  to  the  highest 
degree  that  courage  which  the  Romans  deemed  the  first  of 
virtues,  the  cynosure  of  countless  eyes,  the  chief  object  of  con- 
versation in  the  metropolis  of  the  universe,  destined,  if 
Wctorious,  to  be  immortalised  in  the  mosaic  and  the  sculp- 
ture,^ he  not  unfrequently  rose  to  heroic  gi-andeur.  The 
gladiator  Spartacus  for  thi-ee  years  defied  the  bravest  armies 
of  Rome.  The  greatest  of  Roman  generals  had  chosen 
gladiators  for  liis  body-guard.  ^  A  band  of  gladiators,  faithful 
even  to  death,  followed  the  fortunes  of  the  f^illen  Antony, 
when  all  besides  had  desei-ted  him.^  Beautiful  eyes,  trem- 
bling with  passion,  looked  down  upon  the  fight,  and  the 
noblest  ladies  in  Rome,  even  the  empress  herself,  had  been 
known  to  ci-ave  the  victor's  love.**  We  read  of  gladiators 
lamenting  that  the  games  occurred  so  seldom,^  complaining 
bitterly  if  they  were  not  permitted  to  descend  into  thearena,^ 
scorning  to  fight  except  with  the  most  powerful  antagonists,^ 
laughing  aloud  as  their  wounds  were  dressed,*  and  at  last, 
when  prostrate  in  the  dust,  calmly  turning  their  throats  to 
the  sword  of  the  conqueror.^  The  enthusiasm  that  gathered 
round  them  was  so  intense  that  special  laws  were  found 
necessary,  and  were  sometimes  insufficient  to  prevent  patri- 
cians  from    enlisting    in   their   ranks, '^  while   the  tranquil 


'  Winekelmann  s-iys  the  statue  *  Faustina,  the  wife  of  JNIarcns 

called  '  The  Dying  Gladiator'  does  Axirelius,  was  especially  accused  of 

not   represent  a   gladiator.     At  a  this  weakness.     (Capitolinus,  iV/a^- 

later  period,    however,    statues    of  cus  Aurdius.) 

gladiators  were  not  uncommon,  and  ^  Seneca,  De  Provident,  iv. 

Pliny  notices  (HUt.  Aat.  xxxv.  33)  «  Arrian  s  Epirtetns,  i.  29. 

paintings  of  them.    A  fine  specimen  ^Seneca,  De  Pmv'uhnt.m. 

of  mosaic  portraits  of  gladiators  is  ^  Aulus  Gellius,  xii.  o. 

now  in  the  Lateran  Museum.  ^  Cicero,  Tusc.  lib.  ii. 

2  Plutarch's  Life  of  CcBsar.  '"  Some    Equites   fought  under 

'  Dion  Cassitis,  li.  7.  Julius  Csesar,  and  a  senator  named 


284  HISTORY    OF    ECKOrEAN    MORALS. 

courage  with  which  they  never  failed  to  die  supplied  the 
philosoplier  v/ith  his  most  striking  examples.'  The  severe 
continence  that  was  required  before  the  combat,  contrasting 
vividly  with  the  licentiousness  of  Roman  life,  had  e\OD. 
invested  them  with  something  of  a  moral  diguity ;  and  it  is 
a  singularly  suggestive  fact  that  of  all  pagan  charactei-s  tlid 
gladiator  was  selected  by  the  Fathers  as  the  closest  approxi- 
mation to  a  Christian  model. ^  St.  Augustine  tells  us  bow 
one  of  his  friends,  being  drawn  to  the  spectacle,  endeav^oured 
by  closing  his  eyes  to  guard  against  a  fascination  he  knew  to 
be  sinful.  A  sudden  cry  caused  him  to  break  his  resolution, 
and  he  never  could  withdraw  his  gaze  again. ^ 

And  while  the  influences  of  the  amphitheatre  gained  a 
complete  ascendancy  over  the  populace,  the  Roman  was  not 
without  excuses  that  could  lull  his  moral  feelings  to  repose. 
The  games,  as  I  have  said,  were  originally  human  sacrifices — 
."eligious  rites  sacred  to  the  dead — and  it  was  argued  that  the 
death  of  the  gladiator  was  both  more  honourable  and  more 

Fiilviiis    Setiir  s    wislied    to  fijiht,  Continent.      JuA-enal    dwells  (Sat. 

but  Csesar  prevented   him.     (Suet.  viii.  197-210)  with  great  indigna- 

Camr,  xxxix.;   Dion  Cassius,  xliii.  tion  on  an   instance  of  a  patrician 

23.)     Nero,  according  to  Suetonius,  fighting, 

compelled  men  of  the  highest  rank  '  '  Quis  meiliocris  gladiator  in- 
to figlit.  Laws  prohibiting  patri-  gemuit,  quis  ■siiltum  mutaATt  \m- 
cians  frrmi  figlitins:  w'ere  several  quam  ? ' — Ci%  Tvsc.  Qua-sf.  lib.  ii. 
times  made  and  violated.  (Fried-  '^  E.g.  Clem.  Alex.  S/rom.  iii. 
Isender,  pp.  39-41.)  Commodus  is  There  is  a  well-known  passage  of 
said  to  have  been  himself  passion-  this  kind  in  Horace,  Ars  Poel.  412- 
ately  fond  of  fighting  as  a  gladia-  415.  The  comparison  of  the  good 
tor.  Much,  however,  of  wh.at  man  to  an  atldete  or  gladiator, 
Lampridius  relates  on  this  poin*^  is  whichSt.Paul  employed, occurs  also 
perfectly  incrediljle.  On  the  oiher  in  Seneca,  and Epictetus,  from  which 
hand,  the  profession  of  the  gladia-  some  have  inferred  that  they  mv.st 
lor  was  constantly  spoken  of  as  liave  known  the  writings  of  the 
infamous;  but  this  oscillation  bo-  Ap'^stle.  M.Denis,  however,  has 
t-\reen  extreme  admiration  and  con-  shown  {IcUcs  morales  cla?is  FAri' 
tenipt  will  surprise  no  one  who  tkjnife,  tome  ii.  p.  240)  that  the 
has  noticed  the  tone  cominually  same  comparison  had  been  used, 
adopted  about  prize-fighters  in  before  the  rise  of  Christian'ty,  by 
England,  and  about  the  members  Plato,  ^sfhines,  and  Cicero, 
of  some  other   professions  on  the           *  Confess,  vi.  8. 


THE    TAGAN    EMriRE.  285 

morciful  tliau  that  of  the  passive  victim,  who,  in  the  Homeric 
age,  was  sacrificed  at  the  tomb.  The  combatants  w^ere  either 
professional  gladiators,  slav^es,  criminals,  or  military  captives. 
The  lot  of  the  first  was  voluntary.  The  second  had  for 
a  long  time  been  regardeil  as  almost  beneath  or  beyond  a 
freeman's  care  ;  but  when  the  enlarging  c.rcle  of  sympathy 
had  made  the  Romans  regard  their  slaves  as  *  a  kind  of 
second  human  nature,'  '  they  perceived  the  atrocity  of  expos- 
ing them  in  the  games,  and  an  edict  of  the  emperor  forbade 
it. 2  The  third  had  been  condemned  to  death,  and  as  the 
victorious  gladiator  was  at  least  sometimes  i)ardoned,^  a 
permission  to  fight  was  regarded  as  an  act  of  mercy.  The 
fate  of  the  fourth  could  not  strike  the  early  Roman  with  the 
horror  it  would  now  inspire,  for  the  right  of  the  conquerors 
to  massacre  their  prisoners  was  almost  universally  admitted."* 
But,  beyond  the  point  of  desiring  the  g-xmes  to  be  in  some 
degree  restricted,  extremely  few  of  the  moi-a'ists  of  thcj 
Roman  Empu^e  ever  advanced.  That  it  was  a  horrible  and 
demoralising  tiling  to  make  the  spectacle  of  the  deaths,  even 
of  guilty  men,  a  form  of  })opular  amusement,  was  a  position 
which  no  Roman  school  had  attained,  and  which  was  only 
reached  by  a  very  few  individuals.  Cicero  observes,  *  that 
the  gladiatorial  spectacles  appear  to  some  cruel  and  inhuman,' 
and,  he  adds,  '  I  know  not  whether  as  they  are  now  con- 
ducted it  is  not  so,  but  when  guilty  men  are  compelled  to 
fight,  no  better  discipline  against  suffering  and  death  can  be 


'  '  [Sorvi]  etsi  per  fortunam  iu  One  class  were  condemned  only  to 

omnia  obnc  xii,  taraen  quasi  seeiiu-  fight,    and   pardoned  if   they  eon- 

diim     hommuni      genus     sunt.' —  quered  ;  the  others  were  condemned 

Floras,  Hist.  iii.  20.  to    tight  lill    death,   and  this    was 

■•^  Macrinus,  however,  punished  coasidered  mu  aggravation  of  capital 

fuj^itive  slaves  by  compelling  them  punishment 

to   fight  as   gladiators.      (Capito-  ^  '  Ad  conciliandum  plebis   fa- 

liiius,  Macrmus.)  vorem  eflfusa  largitio,  quum  spec-- 

^  Tacit.   Aimed,    xii.    56.      Ac-  taculis  indulget,  suppliciaquoi^daia 

cording  to   Friodlaender,    however,  hostium  artcm   facit.' — FloruR,  iii. 

U^ere  were  two  classes  of  criminals.  12. 


286  HISTOKY   OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

presented  to  the  eye.'^  Seneca,  it  is  true,  adopts  a  far  noblei 
language.  He  denounced  the  games  with  a  passionate 
elocjuence.  He  refuted  indignantly  the  argument  deri^^ed 
f;om  the  guilt  of  the  combatants,  and  declared  that  undei 
evei'T  form  and  modiBcation  these  amusements  were  bru tali- 
sing,  savage,  and  detestable. ^  Plutarch  went  even  farther, 
and  condemned  the  combats  of  wild  beasts  on  the  ground 
that  we  should  have  a  bond  of  sympathy  with  all  sentient 
beings,  and  that  the  sight  of  blood  and  of  suffeiing  is  neces- 
sarily and  essentially  depraving.^  To  these  instances  we 
may  add  Petronius,  who  condemned  the  shows  in  his  poem 
on  the  civil  war ;  Junius  Mauricus,  who  refused  to  permit 
the  inhabitants  of  Viennc  to  celebrate  them,  and  replied  to 
the  remonstrances  of  the  emperor,  '  AVould  to  Heaven  it  were 
possible  to  abolish  such  spectacles,  even  at  Pome!''*  and, 
above  all,  Marcus  Aurelius,  who,  by  compelling  the  gladiators 
to  fight  with  blunted  swords,  rendered  them  for  a  time  com- 
paratively harmless.^  But  these,  with  the  Athenian  remon- 
strances I  have  already  noticed,  are  almost  the  only  instances 
now  remaining  of  pagan  protests  against  the  most  conspicuous 
as  well  as  the  most  atrocious  feature  of  the  age.  Juvenal, 
whose  unsparing  satiie  has  traversed  the  whole  field  of 
Poman  manners,  and  who  denounces  fiercely  all  crue'ty  to 
slaves,  has  repeatedly  noticed  the  gladiatorial  shows,  but  on 
no  single  occasion  does  he  iut'mate  that  they  were  inconsistent 
with  humanity.  Of  all  the  great  historians  who  recorded 
them,  not  one  seems  to  have  been  conscious  that  he  was 
recoixVing  a  barbarity,  not  one  appears  to  have  seen  in  them 


^  Tusc.  Qucsst.  W.  17.  once  carried  oif  the  gladiators  to  a 

2  See  his  magnificent  letter  on  war  witli   his  army,  much  to  the 

the  subject.     {Ep.  vii.)  indignation  of  the  people.    (Capit.l 

'In  his  two  treatises  Be  Esu  He  has  himself  noticed  the  extreme 

Carnivm.  weaiincss   he    felt    at   the  public 

*  Pliny.  Ep.  iv.  22.  amusements    he    was    obliged    Ui 

^  Xiphilin.lxxi.  29,  Capitolinus,  attend,     (^-ii.  3.) 
M.    Aurelius.      The   emperor  also 


THE    TAWAN    EMrillE.  287 

ail  J  greater  evils  than  an  inci-vasing  tendency  to  pleasure  and 
the  excessive  multiplication  of  a  dangerous  class.  The 
Roman  sought  to  make  men  ))rave  and  fearless,  rather  than 
gentle  and  humane,  and  in  his  eyes  that  spectacle  was  to  he 
applauded  which  steeled  the  heart  against  the  fear  of  death, 
even  at  the  sacrifice  of  the  affections.  Titus  and  Trajan,  in 
■VN  hose  reigns,  probably,  the  greatest  numl^er  of  shows  were 
compressed  into  a  short  time,  were  both  men  of  conspicuous 
clemency,  and  no  Roman  seems  to  have  imagined  that  the 
fact  of  3,000  men  having  been  compelled  to  fight  under  the 
one,  and  10,000  under  the  other,  cast  the  faintest  shadow 
upon  theii'  characters.  Suetonius  mentions,  as  an  instance  of 
the  amiability  of  Titus,  that  ho  was  accustomed  to  jest  with 
the  people  dimng  the  combats  of  the  gladiators,^  and  Pliny 
especially  eulogised  Trajan  because  he  did  not  patronise 
si^ectacles  that  enervate  the  character,  but  rather  those  which 
impel  men  'to  noble  wounds  and  to  the  contempt  of  death.' ^ 
The  same  writer,  who  was  himself  in  many  ways  conspicuous 
for  his  gentleness  and  charity,  having  warmly  commended  a 
friend  for  acceding  to  a  petition  of  the  people  of  Yerona,  who 
desired  a  spectacle,  adds  tliis  startling  sentence  :  '  After  so 
general  a  request,  to  have  refused  would  not  have  been 
fii-mness — it  would  have  been  cruelty.' ^  Even  in  the  closing 
years  of  the  fom-th  century,  the  praefect  Symmachus,  vrho 
was  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  estimable  pagans  of  his  age, 
collected  some  Saxon  prisoners  to  fight  in  honoui'  of  hia 
son.  They  strangled  themselves  in  prison,  and  Symmachus 
lamented  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  him  from  their 
'impious  hands,'  but  endeavoured  to  calm  his  feelings  by 
i*!x;alluig  the  patience  of  Socrates  and  the  precepts  of  phi- 
losophy.* 

~'  t 

'  Sueton.  Titus,  viii.  -   Pliny.  Pancg.  xxxiii. 

"^  '  Visum  est  spectaculum  iiide  ^  •  Praetei-ea      tinto      consensu 

con  enen.'e  nee  fluxxim,    nee  quod     rogabaris,  ut  negare  non  constans 
animos  vircrum  molliret  et  frange-     s»^d  durum  videretur.' — Piin.  Epist, 
ret,  spd   quod  ad    pulchra  vulrera     vi,  34. 
coiiteinptumque  mortis  acccnderet.'  *  Symmacli.  Epist.  ii,  46. 


288  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

While,  however,  I  have  no  desii-e  to  disguise  or  palliate 
the  exti-eme  atrocity  of  this  aspect  of  Roman  life,  there  aie 
c-artain  very  natiual  exaggei-ations,  against  wliich  it  is  neces- 
sary for  us  to  guard.  There  are  in  human  natm:*e,  and  more 
es}->ecially  in  the  exercise  of  the  benevolent  affections,  in- 
equalities, inconsistencies,  and  anomalies,  of  which  theorisia 
do  not  always  take  account.  We  should  be  altogether  in 
error  if  we  supposed  that  a  man  who  took  pleasure  iu  a 
gladiatoiial  combat  in  ancient  Rome  was  necessarily  as  in- 
human as  a  modern  would  be  who  took  p^.easuie  in  a  similar 
spectacle.  A  man  who  falls  but  a  little  below  the  standard 
of  Ms  own  merciful  age  is  often  in  reality  far  worse  than  a 
man  w^ho  had  conformed  to  the  standard  of  a  much  more 
barbarous  age,  even  though  the  latter  will  do  some  tilings 
with  perfect  equanimity  from  which  the  other  would  recoil 
with  horror.  Wc  have  a  much  greater  power  than  is  some- 
times supposed  of  localising  both  our  benevolent  and  malevo- 
lent feelings.  If  a  man  is  very  kind,  or  very  harsh  to  some 
particular  class,  this  is  usually,  and  on  the  whole  justly,  re- 
garded as  an  index  of  his  general  disjDOsition,  but  the 
inference  is  not  infallible,  and  it  may  easily  be  pushed  too 
far.  There  arc  some  who  appear  to  expend  all  their  kindly 
fee'ings  on  a  sing'e  class,  and  to  treat  with  perfect  indif- 
ference all  outside  it.  There  are  others  who  regard  a  certaia 
class  as  quite  outside  the  pa'e  of  their  sympathies,  while  in 
other  sphei-es  their  affections  prove  Kvcly  and  constant. 
There  are  many  who  would  accede  without  the  faintest  re- 
luctance to  a  bai-barous  custom,  but  would  be  quite  iucapab'e 
of  an  equally  barbarous  act  which  custom  had  not  conse- 
crated. Our  affections  are  so  capricious  in  thcii'  uatiue  that 
it  is  continually  necessary  to  correct  by  detailed  experience 
the  most  plausible  deductions.  Thus,  for  example,  it  is  a 
Tery  unquestionable  and  a  very  important  truth  that  cruelty 
to  animals  naturally  indicates  and  promotes  a  habit  of  mind 
which  leads  to  cruelty  to  men ;  and  that,  on  the  other  b  Mid, 


THE    TAGAN    EMPIRE.  2«9 

Ru  dffectionato  and  merciful  disposition  to  animals  commonly 
implies  a  gent'e  and  amiable  nature.  But,  if  we  adopted 
this  principle  as  an  infallible  criterion  of  humanity,  we  should 
soon  find  ourselves  at  fault.  To  the  somewhat  too  hackneyed 
anecdote  of  Domitian  gratifying  his  savage  propensities  by 
killing  tlies,'  we  might  oppose  Spinoza,  one  of  the  pureat, 
most  gentle,  most  benevolent  of  mankind,  of  whom  it  is  y(^ 
laLed  that  almost  the  only  amusement  of  his  life  was  putting 
flies  into  spiders' webs  a.nd  watching  their  struggles  and  their 
deaths.'^  It  has  been  obsei-ved  that  a  vej-y  large  proportion 
of  the  men  who  during  the  French  Revolution  proved  them- 
selves most  absolutely  indifferent  to  human  suffering  were 
deeply  attached  to  animals.  Fournier  was  devoted  to  a 
squii-rel,  Couthon  to  a  spaniel,  Panis  to  two  gold  pheasants 
Chaumette  to  an  aviary,  Marat  kept  doves. ^  Bacon  has 
noticed  that  the  Turks,  who  are  a  cruel  people,  are  neverthe- 
less conspicuous  for  their  Idndness  to  animals,  and  he  men- 
tions the  instance  of  a  Christian  boy  who  was  nearly  stoned 
to  death  for  gagging  a  long-billed  fowl."*  In  Egypt  there  are 
hospitals  for  superannuated  cats,  and  the  most  loathsome 
insects  are  regarded  with  tenderness ;  but  human  life  is 
treated  as  if  it  were  of  no  account,  and  human  suffering 
scarcely  elicits  a  care.''     The  same  contrast  appears  more  or 

'  Sueton.  Domitian.  iii.  It  is  guees  qu'i!  faisait  battre  ensemble, 
very  curious  that  the  same  em-  ou  des  mouches  qu'il  jetait  dans  la 
peror,  about  the  same  time  (the  toile  daraignee,  et  regardait  en- 
beginning  of  his  reign),  had  such  a  suite  cette  bataillo  avec  tant  de 
horrorof  bloodshed  that  he  resolved  plaisir  qu'il  eclatait  qu^dquefois  de 
to  prohibit  the  sacrifice  of  oxen,  rire.' — Cole'-us,  Vie  de  Spinoza. 
(Suet.  Dom.  ix.)     _  3  ^his    is    noticed    by  George 

2  '  pejif|.^j^tq^'ilj.pg*a,i(.y^y|Qgjg^  Duval  in  a  curious  passage   of  his 

il  n'c'tait  incommode   a  personne  ;  Souvenirs  de  la   Terreur,  quoted  by 

u  y  pasFait  la  meilleure  partie  de  Lord  Lytton  in  a  note  to  his  Zanoni. 

SOD  temps  tranquillement  dans  sn  ••  E^sai/  on  Goodness. 

ehnmbre.  ...  II     se    divertissait  ^  This  contrast  has  been  noticed 

Hussi  quelquefois  a  fumer  uue  pipe  by  Ar.-hbisliop  Whately  in  a  lectire 

de  tabac  ;  ou   bien  lorsqu'il  voulait  on    Egypt.      See,     too,     Legendre, 

se   reldcher   I'esprit   un    pen   plus  Traite  de  V Opinion,  V  ma  W.i^.Zli, 
loiigteinps.    il    cherchait   des  arai- 


290  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

less  in  all  Eastern  nations.     On  the  otlier  hand,  travel  lei's 
are  nnanimoiLS  in  declaring  that  in  Spain  an  intense  passion 
for  the  bull-fight  is  quite  compatible  with  the  most  active 
benevo'ence  and  the  most  amiable  disposition.    Again,  to  pass 
to  another  sphere,  it  is  not  uncommon  to  find  conquerors, 
who  will  sacrifice  with  perfect  callousness  gi-eat  masses  oi 
men  to  their  ambition,  but  who,  in  their  dealings  with  iso- 
lated individuals,  are  distinguished  by  an  invariable  clemency. 
Anomalies  of   this  kind  continually  appear  in  the  Roman 
population.     The  \'ery  men  who  looked  down  with  delight 
when  the  sand  of  the  arena  was  reddened  with  human  blood, 
made  the  theatre  ring  with  app'ause  when  Terence,  in  his 
famous  line,  proclaimed  the  universal  brotherhood  of  man. 
When  the  senate,  being  unable  to  discover  the  miu-derer  of  a 
patrician,  resolved  to  put  his  four  hundred  sla^-es  to  death, 
the  people  rose  in  open  rebellion  against  the  sentence.^     A 
knight  named  Erixo,  who  in  the  days  of  Augustus  had  so 
scoui-ged  his  son  that  he  died  of  the  efiects,  was  nearly  torn 
to  pieces  by  the  indignant  population. ^     The  elder  Cato  de- 
prived a  senator  of  his  rank,  because  he  had  fixed  an  execu- 
tion  at   such    an  horn*   that    his    mistress  could    enjoy  the 
spectacle.^     Even    in  the   amphitheatre   there  were  certaiii 
traces  of  a  milder  spirit.     Drusus,  the  people    complained, 
took  too  visible  a  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  blood ;  "*  Caligula 
was  too  curious  in  watoliing  death  ;^  Caracalla,  when  a  boy, 
won  enthusiastic  p' audits  by  shedding  tears  at  the  execution 
of  crimina'S.^     Among  the  most  popular  spectacles  at  Rome 
was  rope-dancing,  and  then,  as  now,  the  cord  being  stretched 
ut  a  gi-eat  height  above  the  ground,  the  apparent,  and  indeed 


'  Tacit.  Annal.  xiv.  4o.  a  rather  diiFerent  version  of   this 

*  Senec.  Le  Clemen,  i.  14.  story. 

'  Val.  Max.  ii  9.     This  writer  *  Tacit.  AnvaL  i.  76. 

jitiAKs  of  'the  eves  of  a  mistress  ^  Suet  on.  CaJig.  xi. 

delighting  iu  human  blood '  with  as  *  Spartian.    Caracalla.    TertU- 

much  horror  as  if  the  gladiatorial  lian  mentions  that  his  nurse  was  a 

games  were  unknown.     Livy  gives  Christian. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  291 

real,  danger  added  an  e^il  zest  to  the  performances.  In  the 
reign  of  Marcus  Aurelius  an  accident  liad  occurred,  and  the 
emperor,  with  his  usual  sensitive  humanity,  ordered  that  no 
rope-dancer  should  perform  without  a  net  or  a  mattress  being 
.sprpftd  out  below.  It  is  a  singularly  cuiious  fact  that  thin 
[)rccaution,  which  no  Cliristian  nation  has  adopted,  continued 
in  force  during  more  than  a  century  of  the  worst  period  of 
the  Roman  Empire,  when  the  blood  of  captives  was  poured 
out  like  water  in  the  Colosseum.^  The  standard  of  humanity 
was  very  low,  but  the  sentiment  was  still  manifest,  though 
its  displays  were  capricious  and  inconsistent. 

The  sketch  I  have  now  dra\vn  will,  I  think,  be  sufficient 
to  display  the  broad  chasm  that  existed  between  the  Eoman 
moralists  and  the  Eoman  people.  On  the  one  hand  we  find 
a  system  of  ethics,  of  which  when  we  consider  the  range  and 
beauty  of  its  precepts,  the  sublimity  of  the  motives  to  which 
it  appealed,  and  its  perfect  freedom  from  superstitious  ele- 
ments, it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  though  it  ma}"-  have 
been  equalled,  it  has  never  l^een  suqjassed.  On  the  other 
hand,  we  find  a  society  almost  absolutely  destitute  of  moral- 
ising institutions,  occupations,  or  beliefs,  existing  under  an 
economical  and  political  system  which  inevitably  led  to 
general  depravity,  and  passionately  addicted  to  the  most 
brutalising  amusements.  The  moral  code,  whi'e  it  expanded 
in  theoretical  catholicity,  had  contracted  in  practical  appli- 
cation. The  early  Romans  had  a  veiy  narrow  and  imperfect 
standard  of  duty,  but  their  patriotism,  their  military  system, 
and  their  enforced  simplicity  of  life  had  made  that  standard 
essentially  popular.  The  later  Romans  had  attained  a  very 
high  and  spiritual  conception  of  duty,  but  the  philosopher 

^  Ca-pholinus,  ^farc^cs  A>/r(lius.  Korae,  but   St.    Chrysostom   men- 

Uapitoliuus,  who  wrote  under  Die-  tions  that  in  his  time  it  had  beer 

eletian,  says  th;it  iu  his  time  the  abolished   in   the    East.  —  Jortin'a 

custom  of  spreading  a  net   under  Remarks  on  Ecclesiaslical  History/, 

the  rope-danoor  still  continued.     I  ii.  71  (ed.  1846). 
do   not   know  when   it   ceased   at 


292  HISTOIIY    OF    EUEOrEAN    MORALS. 

with  bis  group  of  disciples,  or  the  ^Titer  with  his  few  readers, 
had  scarcely  any  point  of  contact  with  the  peop'e.  Th^ 
great  practical  problem  of  the  ancient  philosophers  was  how 
they  could  acb  upon  the  masses.  Simply  to  tell  men  what 
is  vii-tuc;  and  to  extol  its  beauty,  is  insufficient.  Something 
more  must  be  done  if  the  characters  of  nations  ai-e  to  lie 
moulded  and  inveterate  vices  eradicated. 

This  problem  the  Eoman  Stoics  were  Incapable  of  meeting. 
but  they  did  what  lay  in  their  power,  and  their  efforts, 
though  altogether  inadequate  to  the  disease,  were  by  no  means 
contemptible.  Jn  the  first  place  they  raised  up  many  great 
and  good  rulers  who  exerted  all  the  influence  of  theii' position 
in  the  cause  of  vii-tue.  In  most  cases  these  refoi'ms  were 
abolished  on  the  accession  of  the  first  bad  emperor,  but  there 
were  at  least  some  that  remained.  It  has  been  observed 
that  the  luxury  of  the  table,  which  had  acquired  the  most  ex- 
travagant proportions  diu-ing  the  period  that  elapsed  between 
the  battle  of  Actium  and  the  reign  of  Galba,  began  from  this 
pei-iod  to  decline,  and  the  change  is  chiefly  attributed  to 
Vespasian,  who  had  in  a  measure  reformed  the  Eoman  aris- 
tocracy by  the  introduction  of  many  provincials,  and  who 
made  his  co\irt  an  example  of  the  strictest  frugaUty.^  The 
period  from  the  accession  of  Nerva  to  the  death  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  comprising  no  less  than  eighty-four  years,  exhibits 
a  uniformity  of  good  government  which  no  other  despotic 
monarchy  has  equalled.  Each  of  the  five  emperors  who  then 
reigned  desei-ves  to  be  placed  among  the  best  ruleis  who  have 
ever  lived.  Trajan  and  HacUian,  whose  })ersonal  chai-acters 
were  most  de%3tive,  were  men  of  gi-eat  and  conspicuous 
genius.  AntoTiinus  and  Marcus  Aurelius,  though  less  dis- 
tbiguished  as  noliticians,  were  among  the  most  perfectly 
Tiiluous  men  who  have  ever  sat  on  a  throne.  During 
foi-ty  years  of  this  period,  perfect,  unbroken  peace  i-eigjaed 


'  Tacit.  Aiiti.  iii.  55. 


THE    I'AGAN    EMPITwE.  293 

over  tlie  eutii-e  civilised  g'obe.  The  barbarian  encroach- 
ments had  not  yet  begun.  The  distinct  nationalities  tliat 
composed  the  Empire,  gi-atified  by  perfect  municipal  and  by 
perfect  intellectual  freedom,  had  lost  all  care  for  political 
liberty,  and  little  more  than  three  hundred  thousand  soldieia 
guarded  a  territory  which  is  now  protected  by  much  moie 
than  thi^ee  millions.^ 

In  creating  this  condition  of  affairs,  Stoicism,  as  the  chie  I 
moral  agent  of  the  Empire,  had  a  considerable  though  not  a 
preponderating  influence.  In  other  ways  its  influence  was 
more  evident  and  exclusive.  It  was  a  fundamental  maxim 
of  the  sect,  '  that  the  sage  should  take  f)art  in  public  life,'^ 
and  it  was  therefore  impossible  that  Stoicism  should  flomish 
without  producing  a  resuscitation  of  patriotism.  The  same 
moral  impulse  which  transformed  the  Neop'atcnist  into  a 
dreaming  mystic  and  the  Catholic  into  a  useless  hermit, 
impelled  the  Stoic  to  the  foremost  post  of  danger  in  the 
service  of  his  country.  Wliile  landmark  after  landmark  of 
Roman  virtue  was  submerged,  while  luxury  and  scepticism 
and  foreign  habits  and  foreign  creels  were  corroding  the 
whole  framework  of  the  national  Hfe,  amid  the  last  pa- 
roxysms of  expiring  liberty,  amid  the  hideous  carnival  of 
vice  that  soon  followed  upon  its  fall,  the  Stoic  remained  un- 
changed, the  representative  and  the  sustainer  of  the  past. 
A  party  which  had  acquired  the  noble  tit^e  of  the  Party  of 
Yii'tue,  guide!  by  such  men  as  Cato  or  Thrasea  or  Helvidius 
or  Burrhus,  upheld  the  banner  of  Roman  virtue  and  Roman 
liberty  in  the  darkest  hours  of  despotism  and  of  apostasy. 
Like  aU  men  who  carry  an  intense  religious  fervour  iato 
poUtics,  they  were  often  narrow-minded  and  intolerant,  blind 
to  the  inevitable  changes  of  society,  incapable  of  compromise, 
turbulent  and  inopportune  in  their  demands,^  but  they  moiij 

'  ChampagriV,     Les     Antonl/.s,  ^  Thus      Tigellinus     .spoke     of 

tome  ii.  pp.  179-20L).  '  Stoicurum  arrogant 'a  sccraquequfe 

'^  TToXiT^vicrdanov  (t6(Pov. — Diog.  tiivbidos  et  nogotiorum  appetentes 

Laert.  Zeno.  faciat.' — Tacit.  Ayin.  xiv.  57.     Tha 


294  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

than  redeemed  their  errors  by  their  no])le  constancy  and 
courage.  The  austere  purity  of  theii'  lives,  and  the  heroic 
gi-andeur  of  their  deaths,  kept  alive  the  tradition  of  Roman 
liberty  even  under  a  Nero  or  a  Domitian.  While  such  men 
existed  it  was  felt  that  all  was  not  lost.  There  was  still  a 
rallying  point  of  freedom,  a  seed  of  virtue  that  might  germi- 
nate anew,  a  living  protest  against  the  desjDotism  and  the 
conniption  of  the  Empire. 

A  thiiTl  and  still  more  important  sei-vice  which  Sfcoic'sm 
rendered  to  popular  morals  was  in  the  formation  of  Roman 
jurisprudence.'  Of  all  the  many  forms  of  intellectual  exer- 
tion in  which  Greece  and  Rome  struggled  for  the  mastery 
this  is  i)erhaps  the  only  one  in  which  the  superiority  of  the 
latter  is  io disputable.  '  To  ru]e  the  nations '  w-as  justly  pro- 
nounced by  the  Roman  poet  the  supreme  glory  of  his 
countrymen,  and  theii'  administrative  genius  is  even  now  vin- 
ri vailed  in  history.  A  deep  reverence  for  law  was  long  one 
of  their  chief  moral  characteristics,  and  in.  order  that  it 
aiight  be  iaculcatcd  from  the  earUest  years  it  was  a  part  of 
the   Roman  system  of  education  to  oblige  the  children  to 


accusation  does  not  appear  to  have  hand,  Senera  is  justly  accused  of 

been  quite   untrue,  for  Vespasian,  condescending    too    much    to    the 

who  was  a  very  moderate  emperor,  vices  of  Nero  in  his  efforts  to  miti- 

thought    it     necessary    to    banish  gate  their  eff-  cts. 

nearly  all   the   philosophers  from  '  The  influence  of  Stoicism  on 

Rome  on  account  of  their  factious-  Eoman   law  has    lieen   often   exa- 

ness.    Sometimes  the  Stoics  showed  mined.    See,  especially,  Degerando, 

their    in'^ependence    by   a    rather  Hist.  c7e  la  Pliilohophie  ('ind    ed.), 

gratuitous    insolence       Dion    Cas-  tome  iii.  pp.  202-204  ;  Laferriere, 

sius  relates  that,  when    Nero  was  Da  V Ivfluence  du  Sio'icisme  sur  les 

th  nking  of  writing  a  poem  in  400  Jurisconsidtes      romains;      Denis, 

books,  he  asked  the  advice  of  the  IhcorUs    et     Idees    morales    dmn 

Stoic    Cotnutus,    who    said,   that  VAntiqxnte.  tome  ii.  pp.   187-217; 

no  one  would  read  so  long  a  work.  Troiplong,  Influence  du  Ckrisiiaimme 

♦But,'   answered   Nero,   'your   fa-  sicr    le   Droit   civil   des   Romains; 

vouriteChr7sippuf  wrote  still  more  Merivale,  Conversion  of  the  Roman 

numeruus  books.'     '  True,'  rejoined  Empire,  lee.  iv. ;  and  the  great  work 

Cornutus,  'but  then  they  were  of  of  Gravina,  De  Ortu  et  Prooressu 

use  to  humanitv.'     On    the  other  Juris  civilis. 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  295 

re|>e:it  by  rote  the  code  of  the  decemvirs.^  The  laws  of  tlie 
PJepu}>lic,  however,  being  an  expression  of  the  contracted, 
local,  military,  and  sacerdotal  spirit  that  dominated  among 
the  people,  were  necessarily  unfit  for  the  political  and  intel- 
lectual expansion  of  the  Empiie,  and  the  process  of  renova- 
tion which  was  begun  under  Augustus  by  the  Stoic  Labeo,^ 
was  continued  with  gi-eat  zeal  under  Hadrian  and  Alexander 
Severus,  and  issued  in  the  famous  compilations  of  Theodosius 
and  Justinian.  In  this  movement  we  have  to  observe  two 
parts.  There  were  certain  general  rules  of  guidance  laid 
down  by  the  gi-eat  Roman  lawyers  which  constituted  what 
may  be  called  the  ideal  of  the  jurisconsults — the  ends  to 
which  their  special  enactments  tended — the  principles  of 
equity  to  guide  the  judge  when  the  law  was  silent  or  am- 
b'guous.  There  were  also  definite  enactments  to  meet  specific 
cases.  The  first  part  was  simply  borrowed  from  the  Stoics, 
whose  doctrines  and  method  thus  passed  from  the  narrow 
cii'C^e  of  a  philosophical  academy  and  became  the  avowed 
moral  beacons  of  the  civilised  g^obe.  The  fundamental  dif- 
ference between  Stoicism  and  ear'y  Roman  thought  was  that 
the  former  maintained  the  existence  of  a  bond  of  unitv 
among  mankind  which  transcended  or  annihilated  all  c'ass 
or  national  limitations.  The  essential  charactei'istic  of  the 
Stoical  method  was  the  assertion  of  the  existence  of  a  certain 
law  of  natui-e  to  which  it  was  the  end  of  philosophy  to  con- 
form. These  tenets  were  laid  down  in  the  most  unqualified 
language  by  the  Roman  lawyers.  *  As  far  as  natural  law  is 
concerned,'  said  Ulpian,  'all  men  are  equal.' ^  'Nature,' 
said  Paul,  '  has  established  among  us  a  certain  relationship.'  ^ 
*  By  natural  law,'  Ulpian  declared,  '  all  men  are  born  fr-e.'^ 


'  Cic.  De  Legih.  ii.  4,  23.  the  law— thp  second  for  the  lati 

*  There  were  two  rival  schools,  tude  of  interpretation  it  admitted 

that  of  Labeo  f.nd  that  of  Capito.  ^  Dig.  lib.  i.  tit.  17-32. 

The  first  was  remarkable    for    its  *  Ibid.  i.  tit.  1-3. 

Btrict    adherence  to  the   letter  of  *  Hid.  i.  tit.  1-4. 


296 


IIISTOllY    OF    EUROrEAN    5tI0RALS. 


'  Slaveiy '  was  defined  by  Florentinus  as  '  a  custcm  of  the 
law  of  nations,  by  which  one  man,  contrary  to  the  law  of 
nature,  is  subjected  to  the  dominion  of  another.' '  In  accord- 
ance with  these  piinciplos  it  became  a  maxim  among  the 
RoTnan  lawyeis  that  in  every  doubtful  case  where  the  alter- 
native of  slavery  or  freedom  was  at  issue,  the  decision  of  the 
judge  should  be  towards  the  latter. ^ 

The  Roman  legislation  was  in  a  twofold  manner  the  child 
of  philosophy.  It  was  in  the  fii'st  place  itself  formed  upon 
the  philosophical  model,  for,  instead  of  being  a  mere  emj^irical 
system  adjusted  to  the  existing  requii-ements  of  society,  it 
laid  down  abstract  principles  of  right  to  which  it  endeavoured 
to  conform; 3  and,  in  the  next  place,  these  principles  were 
boiTOwed  du'ectly  from  Stoicism.  The  prominence  the  sect 
had  acquii'ed  among  Roman  moralists,  its  active  intervention 
in  public  affairs,  and  also  the  precision  and  brevity  of  its 
phraseology,  had  recommended  it  to  the  lawyers,''  and  the 


»  Dig.  lib.  i.  tit.  4-5. 

^  Laferriere,  p.  32.  Wallon, 
Hist,  de  r Esclavage  dans  rAntiquite, 
tome  iii.  pp.  71-80.  M.  Wallon 
gives  many  curioxis  instances  of 
legal  decisions  on  this  point. 

^  To  prove  that  this  is  the  cnr- 
rect  conception  of  law  was  the 
main  object  of  Cicero's  treatise  De 
Lrgibus.  Ulpian  defined  jiirispru- 
cltnee  as  'divmarum  atque  hu- 
manarum  rerum  notitia.justi  atque 
injusti  scientia.' — Dig.  lib.  i.  tit. 
1-10.  So  Paul  'Id  quod  semper 
gequum  ac  bonum  est  jus  dicitur 
ut  e^t  jus  naturale.'-  Dig.  lib.  i. 
tit.  i-11.  And  Gains,  '  Quod  vero 
naturulis  ratio  inter  omnes  ho- 
mines constituit  .  .  .  vocatur  jus 
erentium.'— 7)/(/.lib.i.tit.  1-9.  Tlie 
Stoics  had  deKiicd  true  wisdom  as 
'rerum  divinarum  atqne  humana- 
nim  scientia.' — Cic.  De  Offic.  i.  43. 

'  Cicero  compares  the  phraseo- 


logy of  the  Stoics  with  that  of  the 
Peripatetics,  maintaiuiiifj  that  the 
precision  of  the  former  is  well 
adapted  to  legal  discussions,  and 
the  redundancy  of  the  latter  to 
oratory.  '  Omnes  fere  Stoici  pru- 
dentissimi  in  disserendo  sint  et  id 
arte  faciant,  sintque  architecti  peno 
verbonim ;  iidem  tr.iducti  a  dis- 
putando  ad  dicendum,  inopes  re- 
periantur:  unum  excipio  Catonem. 
....  Peripateticorum  institutis 
commodius  fingeretur  oratio  .... 
nam  ut  Stoicurum  astrictior  est 
oratio,  aliquantoque  contractior 
quam  aures  populi  requirunt :  sic 
illorum  liberior  et  latior  quam 
patitur  consuetudo  judiciorum  et 
fori.' — De  Claris  Oratoribus.  A 
very  judicious  historian  of  philo' 
sophy  obsen'es :  *  En  general  £ 
Rome  le  petit  nombre  d'hommcg 
livres  a  la  meditation  et  a  Tenthou- 
siasnie    pref-y^erent   Pythagore    et 


rilE    PAGAN    EMTIRE.  297 

anion  then  effected  between  the  legal  and  philosophical  spirit 
is  felt  to  the  present  day.  To  the  Stoics  and  the  Roman 
lawyers  is  mainly  due  the  clear  recognition  of  the  existence 
oi'a  law  of  nature  above  and  beyond  all  human  enactments 
Mhi(h  has  been  the  basis  of  the  best  moral  and  of  the  most 
Influential  though  most  chimerical  political  speculation  of 
later  ages,  and  the  renewed  study  of  Roman  law  was  an  im- 
poriant  elemejit  in  the  revival  that  preceded  the  Reforma- 
tion. 

It  is  not  necessaiy  for  my  present  purpose  to  follow  into 
very  minute  detail  the  application  of  these  principles  to  prac- 
tical legislation.  It  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  there  were  few 
depai-tments  into  which  the  catholic  and  humane  piTuciples 
of  Stoicism  were  not  in  some  degree  caiTied.  In  the  political 
world,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  right  of  Roman  citizen- 
ship, with  the  protection  and  the  legal  privileges  attached  to 
it,  from  being  the  monopoly  of  a  small  class,  was  gi-adually 
but  very  %\ddely  diffused.  In  the  domestic  sphere,  the  power 
which  the  old  laws  had  given  to  the  father  of  the  family, 
though  not  destroyed,  was  greatly  abridged,  and  an  impoi*tant 
innovation,  which  is  well  worthy  of  a  brief  notice,  was  thus 
introduced  into  the  social  system  of  the  Empii'e. 

It  is  probable  that  in  the  chronology  of  morals,  domestic 
vii-tue  takes  the  precedence  of  all  others ;  but  in  its  earliest 
phase  it  consists  of  a  single  article — the  duty  of  absolute  sub- 
mission to  the  head  of  the  household.  It  is  only  at  a  later 
period,  and  when  the  affections  have  been  in  some  degi^ee 
evoked,  that  the  reciprocity  of  duty  is  felt,  and  the  whole 
tendency  of  civilisation  is  to  diminish  the  disparity  between 
the  different  members  of  the  family.  The  process  by  which 
tlie  wife  from  a  simple  slave  becomes  the  companion  and 


Plat  on;  les  hommes  du  monde  et  k  la  nouvelle  Aeademie;  les  juris- 

ceux  qui    eultivaient   les  sciences  consiiltes     au     Portique.'  —  Dege- 

natuvelles  s'attacherent  a  Epicure  ;  rando,  Hist,  de  la  Philos.  tome  iii, 

let  orateurs  et  les  hommes  d  Etat  p.  196. 

21 


298  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

sqiial  of  lier  husband,  I  shall  endeavour  to  trace  in  a  futuw 
chapter.  The  i-elations  of  the  father  to  his  children  are  pro- 
foundly modified  by  the  new  position  the  affections  assume 
in  education,  wliich  in  a  iiide  nation  rests  chiefly  u|)Ou 
authority,  but  in  a  civilised  community  upon  sympathy.  In 
Ptome  the  absolute  authority  of  the  head  of  the  family  was 
the  centre  and  archetype  of  that  whole  system  of  discipliiie 
and  subordination  which  it  was  the  object  of  the  legislator  to 
sustain.  Filial  reverence  was  enforced  as  the  fii'st  of  duties. 
It  is  the  one  vii-tue  which  Vii-gil  attributed  in  any  remark- 
able degi*ee  to  the  founder  of  the  race.  The  marks  of  external 
respect  paid  to  old  men  were  scarcely  less  than  ia  Sparta.* 
It  was  the  boast  of  the  lawyers  that  in  no  other  nation  had 
the  parent  so  gi-eat  an  authority  over  his  cliildi-en.^  The 
child  was  indeed  the  absolute  slave  of  his  father,  who  had 
a  right  at  any  time  to  take  away  his  life  and  dispose  of 
his  entire  property.  He  could  look  to  no  time  during  the 
life  of  his  father  in  which  he  would  be  freed  from  the 
thraldom.  The  man  of  fifty,  the  consul,  the  general,  or  the 
tribune,  was  in  this  respect  in  the  same  position  as  the  infant, 
and  might  at  any  moment  be  deprived  of  all  the  earnings  of 
his  labour,  driven  to  the  most  menial  em23loyments,  or  even 
put  to  death,  by  the  paternal  command.^ 

There  can,  I   think,   be  little  question  that  this  law,  at 
least  in  the  latter  period  of  its  existence,  defeated  its  own 

'  See  a  very  remarkable  passage  him  a  second,  and,  if  manumission 

in  Aulus  Gellius,  iV'/Ci!.  ii.  lo.  again  ensued,  a  third  time.     It  was 

2  'Fere  enim  nulli  alii  sunt  ho-  only  on  the  third  sale  thit  he  passed 

mines  qui  talem  in  iUios  suns  habe-  for  ever  out  of  the  parental  control, 

ant   potestatera  qualem  nus  habe-  A  more   merciful    law,  attril'uted 

mus.'— Gains.  to  Numa,  provided  that  when  the 

^  A  full  statement  of  these  laws  son  married  (if  that  marriage  was 
is  given  by  Dion.  Halicarn.  ii.  4.  with  the  consent  of  the  father), 
It  was  provided  that  if  a  father  the  father  lost  the  power  of  sell- 
sold  his  son  and  if  the  son  was  ing  him.  In  no  other  way.  how- 
afterwards  enfranchised  by  the  ever,  was  his  authority  even  then 
purchaser,  he  became  ag£-in  the  abridged. 
slave  of  liis  father,  wio  might  sell 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  299 

object.  There  are  few  eiToi's  of  education  to  which  more 
unhappy  homes  may  be  traced  than  this — that  parents  have 
Bought  to  command  the  obedience,  before  they  have  sought 
to  win  the  confidence,  of  theii'  children.  This  was  the  path 
wliich  the  Roman  legislator  indicated  to  the  parent,  and  its 
natural  consequence  was  to  chill  the  sjmpathies  and  arouse 
the  resentment  of  the  yoimg.  Of  all  the  forms  of  vii^tue 
til  Lai  affection  is  perhaps  that  which  appears  most  rarely  in 
Roman  history.  In  the  plays  of  Plautus  it  is  treated  much 
as  conjugal  fidelity  was  treated  in  England  by  the  play  writers 
of  the  Restoration.  An  historian  of  the  reign  of  Tiberius 
nas  remarked  that  the  civil  wars  were  equally  remarkable 
for  the  many  examples  they  supplied  of  the  devotion  of  wivea 
to  thcii'  husbands,  of  the  devotion  of  slaves  to  their  mastei-s, 
and  of  the  treachery  or  indifference  of  sons  to  theii*  fathers.  ^ 

The  reforms  that  were  effected  dui-ing  the  pagan  empii'e 
did  not  reconstruct  the  family,  but  they  at  least  gi-eatly  miti- 
gated its  despotism.  The  j^rofoimd  change  of  feeling  that 
had  taken  place  on  the  subject  is  shown  by  the  contrast 
between  the  respectful,  though  somewhat  shrinking,  acquies- 
cence, with  which  the  ancient  Romans  regarded  parents  who 
had  put  theii-  children  to  death,^  and  the  indignation  excited 
under  Augustus  by  the  act  of  Erixo.  Hadi'ian,  apparently 
by  a  stretch  of  despotic  power,  banished  a  man  who  had 
assassinated   his   son.^      Infanticide  was  forbidden,  though 


*  Velleius  Paterculus,  ii.  67.    A  yeteres    Eomanos,'    in    his   works 

great  increase  of  parricide  was  no-  (Cologne,  1761). 
ticed   during   the    Empire   (Senec.  ^  This  proceeding  of  Hadriar, 

De    Clem.    i.   23).     At   first,  it  is  which   is    rehited   by    the   lawyer 

sa-d,  there  was  no  law  ag;).inst  par-  Marcian,  is  doubly  remarkable,  be- 

ricide,  for  the  crime  was  belieA'ed  cause  the  father  had  surprised  his 

to  be  too  atrocious  to  be  possible.  sjninadultery  with  his  stepmother. 

^  Numerous    instances  of  thrse  Now  a  Roman  had  originally  not 

fxccutions   are   collected  ly  lAxy,  only  absolute   authority  OA'er   the 

Val.  Maximus,  &c. ;  their  history  life  of  his  son,  but  also  the  right 

is   fully   given    by    Cornelius   van  of  killing  any  one  whom  he  found 

Bynkershoek,  'De  Jure  occidendi,  committing  adultery  with  his  wife. 

Vendendi,  et  exponendi  liberos  apud  Yet   Marcian  praises  the  severity 


300  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

not  seriously  repressed,  but  the  right  of  putting  to  death  an 
adult  child  had  long  been  obsolete,  when  Alexandei  Severus 
formally  mthdrevv  it  from  the  father.  The  property  of  chil- 
dren was  also  in  some  slight  degi-eo  protected.  A  few 
instances  are  recorded  of  wills  that  were  annulled  because 
they  liad  disinhented  legitimate  sons,^  and  Hadiian,  foil  ow- 
ing a  policy  that  had  been  feebly  initiated  by  his  two 
predecessors,  gave  the  son  an  absolute  possession  of  whatever 
he  might  gain  in  the  military  service.  Diocletian  rendered 
the  sale  of  children  by  the  fathers,  in  all  cases,  illegal. ^ 

In  the  field  of  slavery  the  legislative  reforms  were  more 
important.  This  institution,  indeed,  is  one  that  meets  us  at 
eveiy  turn  of  the  moral  history  of  Rome,  and  on  two  separate 
occasions  in  the  present  chapter  I  have  already  had  occasion 
to  notice  it.  I  have  shown  that  the  great  prominence  of  the 
slave  clement  in  Roman  life  was  one  of  the  causes  of  the 
enlargement  of  sympathies  that  characterises  the  philosophy 
of  the  Empii*e,  and  also  that  slavery  was  in  a  very  high 
degi-ee,  and  in  several  distinct  ways,  a  cause  of  the  corruption 
of  the  free  classes.  In  considering  the  condition  of  the  slaves 
themselves,  we  may  distinguish,  I  think,  three  periods.  In 
the  earlier  and  simpler  days  of  the  Republic,  the  head  of  the 
family  was  absolute  master  of  his  slaves,  but  cii'cumstances 
in  a  great  measiu-e  mitigated  the  e\T.l  of  the  despotism.  The 
slaves  were  very  few  in  number.  Each  Roman  proprietor 
had  commonly  one  or  two  who  assisted  him  in  cultivating 
the  soil,  and  superintended  his  property  when  he  was  absent 
in  the  army.  In  the  frugal  habits  of  the  time,  the  master 
was  brought  into  the  most   intimate   connection   with   Ins 


of  Hadrian,  '  Nam  patria  potestas  long,    Ivflwive    du     Chrisiianisme 

in    pictate   debet,    nnn    atrocitate,  sur  le  Droit,  ch.  ix.  ;  Denis,  Hist. 

eonsistere.' — Digest,  lib.  xlviii,  tit.  des    Llecs    morales,    tome    ii.    pp. 

9,  §  5.  107-120;  Laferriero,  Injiuevce  du 

'  Valer.  Max.  vii.  7.  ■  Stdicismc  sur  les  Juriscon suites,  pp. 

2  See,  on  all  this  subject.  Gibbon,  37-44. 
Decline  and  Fall,  ch.  xliy. ;  Trop- 


THE    PAGAN    EMPTEE  301 

Bia\es.  He  shared  theii*  labours  and  their  food,  and  the 
control  he  exercised  over  them,  in  most  eases  probably  differed 
little  from  that  which  he  exercised  over  his  sons.  Under 
such  cii'cum stances,  gi-eat  barbarity  to  slaves,  though  always 
possible,  was  not  likely  to  be  common,  and  the  protection  of 
religion  was  added  to  the  force  of  habit.  Hercules,  the  god 
of  labour,  was  the  special  patron  of  slaves.  There  was  a 
legend  that  Spai-ta  had  once  been  nearly  destroyed  by  an 
eai-thquake  sent  by  Neptune  to  avenge  the  treacherous  murder 
of  some  Helots.^  In  Rome,  it  was  said,  Jui:)iter  had  once  in 
a  dream  commissioned  a  man  to  express  to  the  senate  the 
divine  anger  at  the  cruel  treatment  of  a  slave  during  the 
public  games.  2  By  the  pontifical  law,  slaves  were  exempted 
from  field  labours  on  the  religious  festivals. ^  The  Saturnalia 
and  Matronalia,  which  were  especially  intended  for  their 
benefit,  were  the  most  popular  holidays  in  Rome,  and  on 
these  occasions  the  slaves  were  accustomed  to  sit  at  the  same 
table  with  theii*  masters.^ 

Even  at  this  time,  however,  it  is  probable  that  gi-eat 
atrocities  were  occasionally  committed.  EveiythJng  was 
permitted  by  law,  although  it  is  probable  that  the  censor  in 
cases  of  extreme  abuse  might  interfere,  and  the  aristocratic 
feelings  of  the  early  Roman,  though  corrected  in  a  measure 
by  the  associations  of  daily  labour,  sometimes  broke  out  in  a 
fierce  scorn  for  all  classes  but  his  own.  The  elder  Cato,  who 
may  be  regarded  as  a  type  of  the  Romans  of  the  earlier 
peiiod,  speaks  of  slaves  simply  as  instruments  for  obtaining 
wealth,  and  he  encouraged  mastei*s,  both  by  his  precept  and 
his  example,  to  sell  them  as  useless  when  aged  and  infirm.^ 


'  ^lian,  Hist.  Var.  ri.  7.  qnire     oxen.  —  Wallon,    Hist,    da 

2  Lixj,  ii.  36 ;  Cicero,  De  Divin.  VEsclavage,  tome  ii.  p.  215. 

fi-  26.  *  See  the  Saturnalia  of  Macro- 

^  Cicero,  Be   Legihiis,  ii.  8-12.  bius. 

Cato,   howerer,    maintained    that  ^  See  his  Life  by  Plutarch,  and 

slaves  might  on  those  days  be  em-  his  book  on  agriculture. 

ployed  on  -vroik  which  did  not  re- 


302  HISTORY    OF    ECLOPEAN    MORALS. 

In  the  second  period,  tlie  condition  of  slaves  had  great  I5 
deteiiorated.  The  victories  of  Eome,  especially  in  the  East, 
had  introduced  into  the  city  innumerable  slaves '  and  the 
wildest  hixurv,  and  the  despotism  of  the  master  lemaineJ 
luiqualified  by  law,  while  the  habits  of  life  that  had  (uiginally 
mitigated  it  had  disappeared.  The  religious  sentiments  of 
the  people  were  at  the  same  time  fatally  impaired,  and  many 
new  causes  conspired  to  aggi'avate  the  evil.  The  passion  for 
gladiatorial  shows  had  begun,  and  it  continually  produced  a 
savage  indifference  to  the  infliction  of  pain.  The  servile  ware 
of  Sicily,  and  the  still  more  formidable  revolt  of  Spartacus, 
had  shaken  Italy  to  the  centre,  and  the  shock  was  felt  in 
every  household.  '  As  many  enemies  as  slaves,'  had  become 
a  Roman  proverb.  The  fierce  struggles  of  barbarian  captives 
were  repaid  by  fearful  punishments,  and  many  thousands  of 
revolted  slaves  perished  on  the  cross.  An  atrocious  law, 
intended  to  secure  the  safety  of  the  citizens,  provided  that  if 
a  master  were  murdered,  all  the  slaves  in  his  house,  who 
were  not  in  chains  or  absolutely  helpless  thi'ough  illness, 
should  be  put  to  death. ^ 

IS'umerous  acts  of  the  most  odious  barbarity  were  com- 
mitted. The  well-kno^vn  anecdotes  of  Flaminius  ordering  a 
slave  to  be  killed  to  gratify,  by  the  spectacle,  the  curiosity  of 

'The  nuTnber   of  the   Eoman  ii.  293.    I  have  aboady  noticed  the 

slaves  has  been  a  matter  of  much  indignant    rising    of    the    people 

controversy.     M.    Bureau    de    la  caused  by  the  proposal  ro  execute 

yialle  {Eco7i. politique  dcs  Ro?nains)  the  400  slaves   of    the   murdered 

has  restricted   it   more  than    any  Pedanius.    Their  interposition  was 

other  writer.     G'lhhon  (Decline  cmd  however  (as   Tacitiis  informs  us), 

B\rll,  chap,  ii.)  has  collected  many  unavailing,  and  the  slaves,  guarded 

statistics  on  the  subject,  but    the  against  rescue  by  a  strong  band  of 

fullest  examination  is  in  ]M.  Wal-  soldiers,    were   executed.     It   was 

Ion  s  ■Adm'irsihle  Hist,  de  I' I'Jsclavoge.  proposed  to  banish    the  freedmcn 

On  the  contrast  between  the  cha-  who  were  in  the  house,  but  Nero 

ractcr  of  the  slaves  of  the  Republic  interposed  and  prevented  it.   Pliny 

and  those  of  the  Empire,  see  Tac.  notices  (Fp.  viii.  U)  the  banish- 

A7m.  xiv  44.  ment  of  the  freedmen  of  a  murdered 

2  Tacit.   Annal.  xiii.  32 ;    xiv.  man, 
12-45.     Wallon,  Hi^t.  de  TEsclav. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  303 

a  guf-jt;  of  Vedius  Pollio  feeding  his  fish  on  the  flesh  of 
slaves ;  and  of  Augustus  sentencing  a  slave,  who  had  killed 
and  eaten  a  favouiite  quail,  to  crucifixion,  are  the  extreme 
examples  that  are  recorded ;  for  we  need  not  regard  as  an 
historical  fact  the  famous  picture  in  Juvenal  of  a  Eomau 
lady,  in  a  moment  of  caprice,  ordering  her  unoftendiiiq 
servant  to  be  crucified.  We  have,  however,  many  other 
very  horrible  glimpses  of  slave  life  at  the  close  of  the  Republic 
anil  in  the  early  days  of  the  Empire.  The  marriage  of  slaves 
was  entirely  unrecognised  by  law,  and  in  their  case  the 
woids  adu  tery,  incest,  or  polygamy  had  no  legal  meaning. 
Their  testimony  was  in  general  only  received  in  the  law- 
courts  when  they  were  under  tortiu-e.  When  executed  for 
a  crime,  their  deaths  were  of  a  most  liideous  kind.  The 
ergastula,  or  private  prisons,  of  the  mastei-s  were  frequently 
their  only  sleeping-places.  Old  and  infirm  slaves  were  con- 
stantly exposed  to  perish  on  an  island  of  the  Tiber.  We 
read  of  slaves  chamed  as  porters  to  the  doors,  and  cultivating 
the  fields  in  chains,  Ovid  and  Juvenal  describe  the  fierce 
Roman  ladies  tearing  their  servants'  faces,  and  thrusting  the 
long  pins  of  their  brooches  into  their  flesh.  The  master,  at 
the  c'ose  of  the  Republic,  had  full  power  to  seU  his  slave  as  a 
gladiator,  or  as  a  combatant  with  wild  beasts.^ 

All  this  is  very  horrible,  but  it  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  there  was  another  side  to  the  pictiu-e.  It  is  the  custom 
of  many  ecclesiastical  writers  to  paint  the  pagan  society  of 
the  Empii^e  as  a  kind  of  pandemonium,  and  with  this  ob- 
ject they  collect  the  ficts  I  have  cited,  which  are  for  the 
most  part  narrated  by  Roman  satmsts  or  historians,  as 
examples  of  the  most  extreme  and  revolting  ci-uelty;  they 
represent  them  as  fair  specimens  of  the  ordinary  treatment 
of  the  servile  class,  and  they  simply  exclude  from  theu^  con- 

'  See  all  this  fully  illustrated  in     contain  numerous  allusions  to  the 
Wallon.     The  plays  of  Plautus  and    condition  of  sl.ives. 
the  Eoman  writers  on  agriculture 


304  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

sideration  the  many  qualifying  facts  that  might  be  alleged. 
Although  the  marriage  of  a  s'ave  was  not  legally  recognised, 
it  was  sanctioned  by  custom,  and  it  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  common  to  separate  his  family.^  Two  customs  to  which 
T  have  already  refeiTed  distinguish  ancient  slavery  broadly 
from  that  of  modern  times.  The  peculium,  or  private  pro- 
perty of  slaves,  was  freely  i-ecognised  by  masters,  to  whom, 
however,  after  the  death  of  the  slave,  part  or  all  of  it  usually 
reverted,^  though  some  masters  permitted  their  slaves  to 
dispose  of  it  by  will.^  The  enfranchisement  of  .slaves  was 
also  carried  on  to  such  an  extent  as  seriously  to  affect  the 
population  of  the  city.  It  appears  from  a  passage  in  Cicero 
that  an  industrious  and  well-conducted  captive  might  com- 
monly look  forward  to  his  freedom  in  six  years."*  Isolated 
acts  of  great  cruelty  undoubtedly  occurred ;  but  public 
opinion  strongly  reprehended  them,  and  Seneca  assures  us 
that  masters  who  ill-treated  their  slaves  wei'e  pointed  at  and 
insulted  in  the  streets.*  The  slave  was  not  necessarily  the 
degraded  being  he  has  since  appeared.  The  physician  who 
tended  the  Roman  in  his  sickness,  the  tutor  to  whom  he 
confided  the  education  of  his  son,  the  artists  whose  works 
commanded  the  admiration  of  the  city,  were  usually  slaves. 
Slaves  sometimes  mixed  with  their  masters  in  the  family,  ate 
habitually  with  them  at  the  same  table,^  and  were  regarded 
by  them  with  the  warmest  affection.  Tiro,  the  slave  and 
afterwards  the  freedman  of  Cicero,  compiled  his  master's 
letters,  and  has  preserved  some  in  which  Cicei-o  addressed 

'  Wallon,  tome  ii.  pp.  209-210,  customary  to  allow  the  puMic  or 

357.     There  were  no  laws  till  the  State  slaves  to  dispose  of  half  their 

time   of    the   Christian    emperors  goods  by  will.     (Wallon,  tome  iii. 

against  separating  the  families  of  p.  59.) 

slaves,  but  it  was  a  maxim  of  the  ••  Wallon,  tome  ii.  p.  419.  Thi^ 

JT;risconsxilts    that  in  forced  salt^s  appears  from  an  allusion  of  Cicero, 

they    should     not    be    separated.  FhiHp.  viii.  11. 

(Wal'on,  tome  iii.  pp.  55-56.)  ^  Senec.  De  Clem.  i.  18. 

■'  Ibid,  tome  ii.  pp.  211-213.  «  Ibid.  Ep.  xlvii, 

*  Plin.   Epist.  riii.   IG.     It  was 


THE    TAG AN    EMPIRE.  305 

him  ill  terms  of  the  most  sincere  and  delicate  friendship. 
I  have  ab-eadj  referred  to  the  letter  in  which  the  younger 
Pliny  poured  out  his  deep  sorrow  for  the  death  of  some  of  his 
slaves,  and  endeavoured  to  console  himself  with  the  thought 
that  as  he  had  emancipated  them  before  theii'  death,  at  leasl 
thoy  had  died  fieeJ  Epictetus  passed  at  once  from  slaver} 
to  the  friendship  of  an  emperor.  ^  The  great  multiplication 
of  slaves,  though  it  removed  them  from  the  sympathy  of  their 
masters,  must  at  least  have  in  most  cases  alleviated  their 
burdens.  The  application  of  tortuie  to  slave  witnesses^ 
horrible  as  it  was,  was  a  matter  of  rare  occuri-ence,  and  was 
carefully  restricted  by  law.^  Much  vice  was  undoubtedly 
fostered,  but  yet  the  annals  of  the  civil  wars  and  of  the 
Empii-e  are  crowded  with  the  most  splendid  instances  of  the 
fidelity  of  slaves.  In  many  cases  they  refused  the  boon  of 
liberty  and  defied  the  most  horrible  tortures  rather  than 
betray  their  masters,  accompanied  them  in  their  flight  when 
all  others  had  abandoned  them,  displayed  undaunted  courage 
and  untiring  ingenuity  in  rescuing  them  fi-om  danger,  and  in 
some  cases  saved  the  lives  of  their  owners  by  the  de  iberate 
sacrifice  of  their  own."*  This  was,  indeed,  for  some  time  tho 
pre-eminent  virtue  of  Rome,  and  it  proves  conclusively  that 
the  masters  were  not  so  tyi-annica',  and  that  the  slaves  wore 
not  so  degi-aded,  as  is  sometimes  alleged. 

The  duty  of  humanity  to  s^.aves  had  been  at  all  timea  one 

'  Pliny,  Ep.  viii.  16.  laid  down    that  at  least  two  free 

2  .Spartianiis.  Hadrianus.  witnesses   should  he  h^ard  before 

'  Oompare  Wallon,  tome   ii.   p.  slaves  were  submitted  to  torture. 

186;  tome  lii.  pp.  60-66      Slaves  and  that  the  offer   of  an  accused 

were    only   to    be   called    as   wit-  person  to  have  his  slaves  tortured 

n esses  in  cases  of  incest,  adultery,  that  they  might  attest  his  inuoceuca 

murder,    and    high    treason,    and  should  not  be  accepted, 
where  it  was  impossible  to  estab-         '•  Numerous   and  very  noble  in- 

lish  the  crime  without    their  evi-  stances  of  slave  fidelity  are  given  ly 

dence.     Hadrian    considere  1    that  .Seneca.  Z's  5^weA'<?.  iii.  19-27  :  Val. 

the  reality  of  the  crime  must  have  Max.  ri.  8;  and  in  Appian's  HiS' 

already   acquired   a   strona    prob-  tory  of  the  Civil   Wars.     See,  too. 

il  ility,    lad  the  jurisconsult  Paul  Tacit.  Hid.  i,  3. 


S06  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MOKALS. 

of  ttose  whicli  the  philosophers  had  most  ardently  mciil  = 
cated.  Plato  and  Aristotle,  Zeno  and  Ep:cm-us,  were,  on 
this  point,  substantially  agi-eed.*  The  Eoman  Stoics  gave 
the  duty  a  similar  prominence  in  their  teaching,  and  Seneca 
especially  has  filled  pages  with  exhortations  to  masters  to 
remember  that  the  accident  of  position  in  no  degree  affects 
the  leal  dignity  of  men,  that  the  slave  may  be  free  by  vii-tue 
while  the  master  may  be  a  slave  by  vice,  and  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  a  good  man  to  abstain  not  only  from  all  cruelty,  but 
even  from  all  feeling  of  contempt  towards  his  slaves.^  But 
these  exhortations,  in  which  some  have  imagined  that  they 
have  discovered  the  influence  of  Christianity,  were,  in 
fact,  simply  an  echo  of  the  teaching  of  ancient  Greece,  and 
especially  of  Zeno,  the  foimder  of  Stoicism,  who  had  laid  down, 
long  before  the  dawn  of  Christianity,  the  broad  principles 
that  '  all  men  are  by  nature  equal,  and  that  vii-tue  alone  esta,b- 
lishes  a  diffej-ence  between  them.'^  The  softening  influence 
of  the  peace  of  the  Antonines  assisted  this  movement  of 
humanity,  and  the  slaves  derived  a  certain  incidental  benefit 
from  one  of  the  w^orst  features  of  the  despotism  of  the 
Caesars.  The  emperors,  who  continually  apprehended  plots 
against  their  lives  or  power,  encom-aged  numerous  spies 
around  the  more  important  of  their  subjects,  and  the  facility 
with  which  s'aves  could  discover  the  proceedings  of  their 
masters  inclined  the  Government  in  theu'  favour-. 

Under  all  these  influences  many  laws  were  promulgated 


'  Aristotle   had,   it   is   true,  de-  his  own  with  his  philosophical  la* 

clared  slavery  to  be  part  of  the  law  hours.     (Diog.  Laert.  Epicurus.) 

of   nature — an    opinion    which,  ho  '^  De  Bencf.Wi.   18-28:  De  Viia 

s.iid,  was  rejected  by  some  of  his  B'ata.  xxiv. ;  Dc  Clem.  i.   18,  and 

fonlemporaries  ;    bu»:  he  advocated  especially  Rp.  xlvii.     Epicter.us,  as 

Immanity  to  slaves   quite   as   em-  might  be  expected  from  his  history, 

phatically  as  the  other  philosophers  frequently  recurs  to  the  duty.    Plu- 

\Kconomics,  i.    5).     Epicurus   was  tareh  writes  very  beautifully  upon 

conspicuous     even    among    Greek  it  in  his  treatise  De  Uohihcnda  Ircu 

philosophers   for  his   kindness   to  *  iDiog.  Laert.  Zno. 
•slaves,  and  he  associated  some  of 


TEE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  307 

which  profoiincry  altered  the  legal  position  of  the  s'aves,  and 
opened  what  may  be  termed  the  thii'd  period  of  Iloiaan 
slavery.  The  Petronian  law,  which  was  issued  by  Augustus, 
or,  more  probably,  by  Nero,  forbade  the  master  to  condemn 
his  slave  to  combat  with  wild  beasts  without  a  sentence  from 
a  judge. ^  Under  C'audius,  some  citizens  exposed  their  sick 
slaves  on  the  island  of  ^sculapius  in  the  Tiber,  to  avoid 
the  ti'ouble  of  tending  them,  and  the  emp3ror  decreed  that  if 
the  s'ave  so  exposed  recovered  from  his  sickness  he  should 
become  free,  and  also,  that  masters  who  killed  their  slaves 
instead  of  expos'ng  them  should  be  prmished  as  murderers.^ 
It  is  possible  that  succour  was  afforded  to  the  abandoned 
fllave  in  the  temple  of  ^sculapius,^  and  it  would  appear 
from  these  laws  that  the  wanton  slaughter  of  a  slave  was 
already  illegal.  About  this  time  the  statue  of  the  emperor 
had  become  an  asylum  for  slaves."*  Under  Nero,  a  judge 
was  appointed  to  hear  their  complaints,  and  was  instructed 
to  punish  masters  who  treated  them  with  barbarity,  made 
them  the  instruments  of  lust,  or  withheld  from  them  a 
sufficient  quantity  of  the  necessaries  of  life.*  A  considerable 
pause  appears  to  have  ensued  ;  but  Domitian  made  a  law, 
which  was  afterwards  reiterated,  forbidding  the  Oriental 
custom  of  mutilating  slaves  for  sensual  purposes,  and  the 
reforms  were  renewed  with  great  energy  in  the  period  of  the 
Antonines.  Hadrian  and  his  two  successors  formally  deprived 
masters  of  the  right  of  killing  their  slaves ;  forbade  them 
to  soil  slaves  to  the  lanistse,  or  speculators  in  gladiators  ; 
destroyed  the  ergastula,  or  private  prisons  ;  ordered  that, 
when  a  master  was  murdered,  those  slaves  only  should  be 


•  Bodin    thinks    it  was   promul-  -  Siieroii.     Claud,     xxv.  ;     Dion 

gated  by  Nero,  and    he   has   been  Cass.  Ix.  29. 

followed    by    Troplon^    and    Mr,  ^  "^eelinmiiB,  Sccours  publics  ekei 

Merivale.      Champagny    {Les   An-  les     Anciens     (Paris,     1813),    pp 

tonins,    tome    ii.    p.    115)    thinks  125-130. 

that    DO    law    after    Tiberius   was  •*  Senec.  De  Clem.  i.  18. 

called  lex.  »  Senec.  De  bcnef.  iii.  22. 


308  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

tortured  who  were  within  hearing  ;^  appointed  officers  thi-ough 
all  the  provinces  to  hear  the  complaints  of  slaves ;  enjoined 
that  no  master  should  treat  his  slaves  with  excessive  severity  ; 
and  commanded  that,  when  such  severity  was  proved,  the 
master  should  be  compelled  to  sell  the  slave  he  liad  ill- 
treated.  ^  When  wc  add  to  these  laws  the  broad  maxims  of 
equity  asserting  the  essential  equality  of  the  human  i-ace, 
which  the  jurists  had  boiTOwed  from  the  Stoics,  and  wliich 
supplied  the  principles  to  guide  the  judges  in  then*  decisions, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  the  slave  code  of  Imperial  Eome 
compares  not  unfavourably  with  those  of  some  Christian 
nations. 

While  a  considerable  portion  of  the  principles,  and  even 
much  of  the  phraseology,  of  Stoicism  passed  into  the  system 
of  public  law,  the  Roman  philosophers  had  other  more  direct 
means  of  actiag  on  the  people.  On  occasions  of  fandly 
bereavement,  when  the  mind  is  most  susceptible  of  impres- 
sions, they  were  habitually  called  in  to  console  the  survivors. 
DyiQg  men  asked  their  comfort  and  support  in  the  last  hours 
of  their  life.  They  became  the  directors  of  conscience  to 
numbers  who  resorted  to  them  for  a  solution  of  pei-plexing 
cases  of  practical  morals,  or  under  the  influence  of  de- 
spondency or  remorse.^     They  had  their  special  exhortations 


'  Spartian.  Hadrianus.    Hadrian  ill-treated  him.    ("Wallon,  tome  iii. 

exiled  a  Eoman  lady  for  fiye  years  p.  62.) 

for  treating  her  slaves  with  atro-        ^  Thus,  e.g.,  Livia  call^^d  in  the 

cious  cruelty.     (i)/^''67;.  lib.  i.  tit.  6,  Stole  Areus  to  console   her   after 

§  2.)  the   death   of  Dnisus   (Senec.  Ad 

^  See  these  laws  fully  examined  Marc).     Many   of  the   letters   of 

by    Wallon,    tome    iii.  pp.   51-92,  Seneca   and   Plutarch  are  written 

and  also  Laferriere,  Sur  rinjluevce  to    console    the    suffering.     Cato, 

du   Stdicisme  sur   le   Droit.     The  Thrasea,  and  many  others  appear 

jurisconsults  gave  a  very  wide  scope  to  have  fortified   their  last  houra 

to  their  definitions  of  cruelty.     A  by  conversation  with  pliilosophers, 

master   who    degraded   a   literary  The  whole  of  this  aspect  of  Stoieiftra 

slave,  or  a  slave  musician,  to  some  has  been  admirably  treated  by  M. 

coarse   manual   employment,   such  Marth.^  (Les  Moralistes  de  P Empire 

as  a  porter,  was  decided  to  have  JRo-main). 


THE    TAGAN    EMriRE.  309 

for  ever  J  \  ice,  and  their  remedies  adapted  to  every  variety  of 
charactei .  Many  cases  were  cited  of  the  conversion  of  the 
vicious  ov  the  careless,  who  had  been  sought  out  and  ftisci 
Heated  by  the  philosopher,"  and  who,  under  his  guidance,  had 
passed  thrx)ugh  a  long  course  of  moral  discij)line,  and  had  at 
last  attmned  a  high  degree  of  virtue.  Education  fell  in  a 
great  degree  into  their  hands.  Many  great  families  kept  a 
philosopher  among  them  in  what  in  modern  language  might 
be  termed  the  capacity  of  a  domestic  cliaplain,^  while  a  sys- 
tem of  popular  preaching  was  created  and  widely  diffused. 

Of  these  preachers  there  were  two  classes  who  differed 
greatly  in  their  characters  and  their  methods.  The  first, 
who  have  been  very  happily  termed  the  'monks  of  Stoicism,'^ 
were  the  Cynics,  who  appear  to  have  assumed  among  the  later 
moralists  of  the  PiXgan  empii-e  a  position  somewhat  resembling 
that  of  the  mendicant  orders  in  Catholicism.  In  a  singularly 
curious  dissertation  of  Epictetus,'*  we  have  a  picture  of  the 
ideal  at  which  a  Cynic  should  aim,  and  it  is  impossible  in 
reading  it  not  to  be  struck  by  the  resemblance  it  bears  to  the 
missionary  friar.  The  Cynic  should  be  a  man  devoting  his 
entire  life  to  the  instruction  of  mankind.  He  must  be 
iinmarried,  for  he  must  have  no  family  affections  to  divert  <s>r 
to  dilute  his  energies.  He  must  wear  the  meanest  dress, 
sleep  upon  the  bare  ground,  feed  upon  the  simplest  food, 
abstain  from  all  earthly  pleasures,  and  yet  exhibit  to  the 
world  the  example  of  uniform  cheerfulness  and  content.  No 
one,  under  pain  of  provoldng  the  Divine  anger,  should 
embrace  such  a  career,  unless  he  believes  himself  to  be  called 


'  We  have  a  pleasing  picture  of  ^  Champagny,  Zes^;zz'o;n"?2S,  tome 

the  affection  philosophers  aud  theic  i.  p.  405. 

iisejples  soniHtimes  bore  toone  an-  ^  Arrian,    iii.    22.     Julian    has 

o!ber  in  the  lines  of  Persius  {Sai.  also  painted  the  character  of  the 

v.)  to  his  master  Cornutus.  true  Cynic,  and  contrasted  it  with 

'  Grant's    Aristotle,   vol.    i.   pp.  that  of  the  impostors  who  assumed 

277-278.  the  garb.     See  Neander's  Life  oj 

Julian  (London,  1850),  p.  94. 


310  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

and  assisted  by  Jupiter.  It  is  his  mission  to  go  among  men 
as  the  ambassador  of  God,  rebuking,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  their  fiivolity,  their  cowardice,  and  their  Adce.  He 
mast  stop  the  rich  man  in  the  market-place.  He  must 
preach  to  the  populace  in  the  highway.  He  must  know  no 
respect  and  no  fear.  He  must  look  upon  all  men  as  his  sons, 
and  upon  all  women  as  his  daughters.  In  the  midst  of  a 
jeering  crowd,  he  must  exhibit  such  a  placid  calm  that  men 
may  imagine  him  to  be  of  stone.  Ill-treatment,  aud  exile, 
and  death  must  have  no  terror  in  his  eyes,  for  the  discipline) 
of  his  life  should  emancipate  him  from  every  earthly  tie ;  and, 
when  he  is  beaten,  '  he  should  love  those  who  beat  him,  for 
he  is  at  once  the  father  and  the  brother  of  all  men.' 

A  curious  contrast  to  the  Cynic  was  the  philosophic 
rhetorician,  who  gathered  around  his  chair  all  that  was  most 
brilliant  in  Roman  or  Athenian  society.  The  passion  for 
oratory  which  the  free  institutions  of  Greece  had  formed,  had 
survived  the  causes  that  produced  it,  and  given  rise  to  a  very 
singular  but  a  very  influential  profession  ;  which,  though 
excluded  from  the  Roman  Republic,  acquired  a  great  develop- 
ment after  the  destruction  of  political  liberty.  The  rhetori- 
cians were  a  kind  of  itinerant  lecturers,  who  went  about 
from  city  to  city,  delivering  harangues  that  were  often  re- 
ceived with  the  keenest  interest.  For  the  most  part,  neither 
their  characters  nor  their  talents  appear  to  have  deserved 
much  respect.  Numerous  anecdotes  are  recorded  of  their 
vanity  and  rapacity,  and  their  success  was  a  striking  proof  of 
the  decadence  of  public  taste.  ^     They  had  cultivated  the  his^ 


'  Seneca  the  rhetorician  (father  which  they  moved.     On  their  inju- 

of  the  philosopher)  collected  many  rious  influence  upon  eloquence,  see 

of  the  sayings  of  the  rhetoricians  of  Petronius,   Satyrko7i,  i.  2,     Much 

his  time.     At  a  later  period,  Philo-  curious  information  about  the  rhe- 

Btratus  wrote  the  lives  of  eminent  toricians  is    collected    in    Martha, 

rhetoricians,    Quiniilian    discussed  Moralis^es  de  I'Emjnre  Romain,  and 

their  rules  of  oratory,  and  Aulus  in    Nisard,    Etudes   siir   les  Fo'etes 

Gellius  painted  the  whole  society  in  Latins  de  la  Decadence,  art.  Juvenal 


rilE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  311 

tiionic  part  of  oratory  with  the  most  miuute  attention.  Tlie 
arrangement  of  their  hair,  the  folds  of  their  dresses,  all  their 
postures  and  gestures  were  studied  with  artistic  care.  They 
had  determined  the  different  kinds  of  action  that  are  ap})i  o- 
priate  for  each  branch  of  a  discourse  and  for  each  form  of 
eloquence.  Sometimes  they  personated  characters  in  Homer 
or  in  ancient  Greek  history,  and  delivered  speeches  which 
those  characters  might  have  delivered  in  certain  conjunctures 
3f  their  lives.  Sometimes  they  awakened  the  admiration  of 
their  audience  by  making  a  fly,  a  cocki-oach,  dust,  smoke,  a 
mouse,  or  a  parrot  the  subject  of  their  eloquent  eulogy.* 
Others,  again,  exercised  their  ingenuity  in  defending  some 
glaring  paradox  or  sophism,  or  in  debating  some  intiicate 
case  of  law  or  morals,  or-  they  delivered  literary  lectures 
remarkable  for  a  minute  but  captious  and  fastidious  criticism. 
Some  of  the  rhetoiicians  recited  only  harangues  prepared 
with  the  most  elaborate  care,  others  were  ready  debaters,  and 
they  travelled  from  city  to  city,  challenging  opponents  to  dis- 
cuss some  subtle  and  usually  frivolous  question.  The  poet 
Juvenal  and  the  satirist  Lucian  had  both  for  a  time  followed 
this  profession.  Many  of  the  most  eminent  acquired  immense 
wealth,  travelled  with  a  splendid  retinue,  and  excited  trans- 
ports of  enthusiasm  in  the  cities  they  visited.  They  were  often 
charged  by  cities  to  appear  before  the  emperor  to  plead  for  a 
remission  of  taxes,  or  of  the  punishment  due  for  some  offence. 
They  became  in  a  great  measure  the  educators  of  the  people 
and  contributed  very  largely  to  form  and  direct  their  taste. 


'  '  Cependant   ces   crateurs   u'e-  iin   grnnd  eveque,  fera  le  pane^y 

taient    jamais    plus    admires    que  rique  de  la  calvitie,  long  ou\Tago 

lorsqu'ils    avaient    le    bonheur    de  ou  toutes  its  sciences  sont  mises  a 

trouver  un  sujet  ou  la  louange  fut  contriliution    pour   apprendre   au5 

un  tour  de  force.  .  .  .  Lucienafait  hommes  ce  qu'il  y  a  uon-seulemeut 

I'eloge  de  la  mouche ;  Fronton  de  de  bonheur  mais  aussi  de  merite  a 

lapoussiere.de  la  fumee,  de  la  negli-  etre   chauve.' — Martha,  Moraliitis 

gerce  ;   Dion    Chrysostome   de   la  de  lEm^tire  Romain  (ed.  18G5),  p. 

chevelure,  du  perroquet,  etc.     Au  275. 
eiofiuione  siecle,  Sytiesius,  qui  tut 


312  HTSTOKY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

It  had  been  from  the  first  the  custom  of  some  philosophei-a 
fco  adopt  this  profession,  and  to  expound  in  the  form  of  rhe- 
torical lectures  the  principles  of  their  school.  In  the  Flavian 
period  and  in  the  age  of  the  Antonines,  this  alliance  of  phi- 
losophy, and  especially  of  Stoical  philosophy,  with  rhetoric 
became  more  marked,  and  the  foundation  of  liberally 
endowed  chairs  of  rhetoric  and  philosophy  by  Vespasian, 
Hadrian,  and  Marcus  Aurelius  contributed  to  sustain  it. 
Discourses  of  the  Platonist  Maximus  of  Tyre,  and  of  the 
Stoic  Dion  Chrysostom,  have  come  down  to  us,  and  they  are 
both  of  a  high  order  of  intrinsic  merit.  The  first  turn 
chiefly  on  such  subjects  as  the  comparative  excellence  of 
active  and  contemplative  life,  the  pure  and  noble  conceptions 
of  the  Divine  nature  wliich  underlie  the  fables  or  allegories 
of  Homer,  the  daemon  of  Socrates,  the  Platonic  notions  of 
the  Divinity,  the  duty  of  prayer,  the  end  of  philosophy,  and 
the  ethics  of  love.'  Dion  Chrysostom,  in  his  orations, 
expounded  the  noblest  and  pui-est  theism,  examined  the 
place  which  images  should  occujjy  in  worship,  advocated 
humanity  to  slaves,  and  was,  perhaps,  the  earliest  writer  in 
the  Roman  Empire  who  denounced  hereditary  slavery  as 
illegitimate.  2  His  life  was  very  eventful  and  very  noble. 
He  had  become  famous  as  a  sophist  and  rhetorician,  skilled 
in  the  laborious  frivolities  of  the  profession.  Calamity, 
however,  and  the  writings  of  Plato  induced  him  to  abandon 
them  and  devote  himself  exclusively  to  the  improvement  of 
mankind.  Having  defended  with  a  generous  rashness  a  man 
who  had  been  proscribed  by  the  tyranny  of  Domitian,  he 
'^'a,s  compelled  to  fiy  from  Eome,in  the  garb  of  a  beggar ;  and, 
carrying  with  him  only  a  work  of  Plato  and  a  speech  of 
Demosthenes,  he  travelled  to  the  most  distant  frontiers  of 
the  empire.     He  gained  liis  liveliliood  by  the  work  of  hia 


'  There  is  a  good  review  of  the     207-215. 
tpaching    of    Maximus   in    ClKim-         -  Orat.  xx. ;  De  Servitnie. 
pagiiy,  Les  Aritonins,  tome  ii.  pp. 


THE    PAGAN    EMnilE.  3]  3 

hands,  for  he  refused  to  receive  money  for  his  discourses;  but 
he  taught  and  captivated  the  Greek  colonists  who  were 
scattered  among  the  barbarians,  and  even  the  barbarians 
themselves.  Upon  the  assassination  of  Domitian,  when  the 
legions  hesitated  to  give  their  allegiance  to  Nerva,  the 
chxpience  of  Dion  Chrysostom  overcame  theii'  irresolution. 
Jiy  the  same  eloquence  he  more  than  once  appeased  sedition  a 
m  Alexandria  and  the  Greek  cities  of  Asia  Minor.  He 
preached  before  Trajan  on  the  duties  of  royalty,  taking  a  line 
of  Homer  for  his  text.  He  electrified  the  vast  and  polished 
audience  assembled  at  Athens  for  the  01}Tnpic  games  as  he 
had  before  done  the  rude  barbarians  of  Scythia.  Though  his 
taste  was  by  no  means  untainted  by  the  frivolities  of  the 
.'hetorician,  he  was  skilled  in  all  the  arts  that  awaken 
curiosity  and  attention,  and  his  eloquence  commanded  the 
most  various  audiences  in  the  most  distant  lands.  His 
special  mission,  however,  was  to  popularise  Stoicism  by  dif- 
fusing its  principles  through  the  masses  of  mankind.^ 

The  names,  and  in  some  cases  a  few  fragments,  of  the 
writings  of  many  other  rhetorical  philosophers,  such  as 
Herod  Atticus,  Favorinus,  Fi-onto,  Taurus,  Fabianus,  and 
Julianus,  have  come  down  to  us,  and  each  was  the  centre  of 
a  group  of  passionate  admirers,  and  contributed  to  form  a 
literary  society  in  the  great  cities  of  the  empire.  We  have 
a  vivid  picture  of  this  movement  in  the  '  Attic  Nights ' 
of  Aulus  Gellius — a  work  w-hich  is,  I  think,  one  of  the 
most  curious  and  instructive  in  Latin  literature,  and  which 
bears  to  the  literary  society  of  the  period  of  the  Antonines  much 
the  same  relation  as  the  writings  of  Helvetius  bear  to  the 
Parisian  society  on  the  eve  of  the  Revolution.  Helvetius,  it 
is  said,  collected  the  materials  for  his  great  work  on  '  Mind ' 
chiefly  from  the  conversation  of  the  drawling-rooms  of  Paiia 
at  a  time  when  that  conversation  had  attained  a  degi^ee  of 


'  See   the    singularly   charming    essay  on  Dion  Chrysostom,   in    ]\(L 
Martha's  book. 

22 


314  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

perfection  which  even  Frenchmen  had  never  before  equalled 
He  wrote  in  the  age  of  the  '  Encyclopaedia,'  when  the  social 
and  political  convulsions  of  the  Revolution  were  as  yet  un- 
felt;  when  the  first  dazzling  gleams  of  intellectual  freedoui 
had  flashed  upon  a  society  long  clouded  by  superstition  and 
mstocratic  pride ;  when  the  genius  of  Voltaire  and  the  peerless 
conversational  powers  of  Diderot,  iiTadiating  the  bold  phi- 
losophies of  Bacon  and  Locke,  had  kindled  an  intellectual 
enthusiasm  through  all  the  ranks  of  fashion;'  and  when  the 
contempt  for  the  wisdom  and  the  methods  of  the  past  was 
only  equalled  by  the  prevailing  confidence  in  the  future. 
Brilliant,  graceful,  versatile,  and  superficial,  with  easy 
eloquence  and  lax  morals,  with  a  profound  disbelief  in  moral 
excellence,  and  an  intense  appreciation  of  intellectual  beauty, 
disdaining  all  pedantry,  superstition,  and  mystery,  and  with 
an  almost  fanatical  persuasion  of  the  omnipotence  of  analysis, 
he  embodied  the  principles  of  his  contemporaries  in  a  philo- 
sophy which  represents  aU  A'irtue  and  heroism  as  but  dis- 
guised self-interest ;  he  illustrated  every  argument,  not  by 
the  pedantic  learning  of  the  schools,  but  by  the  sparkling 
anecdotes  and  acute  literary  criticisms  of  the  drawing-room, 
and  he  thus  produced  a  work  which,  besides  its  intrinsic 
meiits,  was  the  most  perfect  mirror  of  the  society  from  whi(^h 
it  sprang.2  Very  difierent,  both  in  form,  subject,  and 
tendency,  but  no  less  truly  representative,  was  the  work  of 
Aulus  Gellius.  It  is  the  journal,  or  common-place  book,  or 
miscellany  of  a  scholar  moving  in  the  centre  of  the  literary 
society  of  both  Rome  and  Athens  during  the  latter  period  of 


*  Mr.  Buckle,  in  his    admirable  nboiit   Helvetius    is   well    known: 

chapter  on  the  '  Proximate  Causes  '  C'est  un  homnie  qui  a  dit  le  secret 

of  the  French  ReYolution'  (Hint,  of  de  tout  le  niond^.'    How  truly  Hel- 

Cioilisaiio7i,xo\  i.),  has  painted  this  retius  represented  this  fashionable 

lasliionaljle  enthusiasm  for  know-  society  appears  very  plainly  from 

ledge  with  great  power,  and  illus-  the   vivid   portrait   of    it    in    the 

iriited  it  with  ample  learning.  Nouvelle    Heldise,    part    ii.    lettei 

^  The  saying  of  Mine.  Dudoffand  xvii.,  a  masterDiece  of  its  kind. 


THE    TAG  AN    EMnill::.  315 

the  AutouLnes,  profoundly  imbued  with  its  spirit,  and 
devoting  his  leisure  to  painting  its  leading  figures,  and  com- 
piling the  substance  of  their  teaching.  Few  books  exhi})it 
a  more  curious  picture  of  the  combiuation  of  intense  child- 
like literary  and  moral  enthusiasm  Avith  the  most  hopeloso 
intellectual  degeneracy.  Each  prominent  philosopher  was 
surrounded  by  a  train  of  enthusiastic  disciples,  who  made 
the  lecture-room  resomid  with  their  app'ausCj'^and  accepted 
him  as  theii'  monitor  in  all  the  affairs  of  life.  He  rebuked 
publicly  every  instance  of  vice  or  of  affectation  he  had  ob- 
served in  their  conduct,  received  them  at  his  own  table, 
became  their  friend  and  confidant  in  their  troubles,  and 
sometimes  assisted  them  by  his  advice  in  their  professional 
duties.^  Taurus,  Favoiinus,  Fronto,  and  Atticus  were  the 
most  prominent  figures,  and  ench  seems  to  have  formed,  in 
the  centre  of  a  corrupt  society,  a  litt^.e  company  of  young  men 
devoted  with  the  simplest  and  most  ardent  earnestness  to  the 
cultivation  of  intellectual  and  moral  excellence.  Yet  this 
society  was  singularly  pueri'e.  The  age  of  genius  had  closed, 
and  the  age  of  pedantry  had  succeeded  it.  Minute,  curious, 
and  fastidious  verbal  criticism  of  the  great  writers  oi  the 
past  was  the  chief  occupation  of  the  scholar,  and  the  ^v^hole 
tone  of  his  mind  had  become  retrospective  and  even  archaic. 
Ennius  was  esteemed  a  greater  poet  than  Yirgil,  and  Cato  a 
greater  prose  writer  than  Cicero.  It  was  the  afiectation  of 
some  to  tesselate  theii-  conversation  with  antiquated  and 
obsolete  words.^  The  study  of  etymologies  had  risen  into 
great  favour,  and  curious  questions  of  grammar  and  pro- 


'  Musonius    tried   to   stop    tliis  rously  applauded, 
custom  of  applauding  the  lecturer.         '^  Thus  GpIHus  himself  consulted 

(Aul.  Gell.  Noct.  v.  i.)    The  habits  Favorinus  about  a  perplexing  case 

that  were  formed  in  the  schools  of  which  he  had,  in  his  capacity  uf  ma- 

the    rhetoricians    were    sometimes  gistrate,  to  determine,  and  received 

carried  into  the  churches,  and  we  from  his  master  a  long  dissertation 

have   notices  of   preachers    (espe-  on  the  duties  of  a  judge  (xia.  2). 
cially  St.  Chrysostom)  being  vocife-        ^  i.  10. 


3 16  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

nunciation  were  ardently  debated.  Logic,  as  in  most  ages 
of  intellectual  povei-tv,  was  greatly  studied  and  prized. 
Bold  speculations  and  original  thought  had  almost  ceasicd, 
but  it  was  the  delight  of  the  philosophers  to  throw  the 
arguments  of  great  writers  into  the  form  of  syllogisms,  and 
to  debate  them  according  to  the  rules  of  the  schools.  The 
v^ry  amusements  of  the  scholars  took  the  form  of  a  whim- 
sical and  puerile  pedantry.  Gellius  recalls,  A\dth  a  thrill  oi 
emotion,  those  enchanting  evenings  when,  their  more  serious 
studies  being  terminated,  the  disciples  of  Taurus  assembled 
at  the  table  of  their  master  to  pass  the  happy  hours  in  dis- 
cussing such  questions  as  when  a  man  can  be  said  to  die, 
whether  in  the  last  moment  of  life  or  in  the  first  moment  of 
death ;  or  when  he  can  be  said  to  get  up,  whether  when  he  is 
still  on  his  bed  or  when  he  has  just  left  it.^  Sometimes  they 
proposed  to  one  another  literary  questions,  as  what  old 
writer  had  employed  some  common  word  in  a  sense  that  had 
since  become  obsolete ;  or  they  dii5cussed  such  syllogisms  ns 
these  : — '  You  have  what  you  have  not  lost ;  you  have  not 
lost  horns,  therefore  you  have  horns.'  '  You  arc  not  what  I 
am.  I  am  a  man;  therefore  you  are  not  a  m-m.'^  As 
moralists,  they  exhibited  a  very  genuine  love  of  moral  ex- 
cellence, but  the  same  pedantic  and  retrospective  character. 
They  were  continually  dilating  on  the  regulations  of  the 
censors  and  the  customs  of  the  earliest  period  of  the  Republic. 
They  acquired  the  habit  of  never  enforcing  the  simplest 
lesson  without  illustrating  it  by  a  profusion  of  ancient 
examples  and  by  detached  sentences  from  some  philosopher, 
which  they  employed  much  as  texts  of  Scriptui-e  are  often 
employed  in  the  writings  of  the  Puritans.^     Above  all,  they 


Nt^t.  Aft.  XI.  13.     They  called  ^  Wo  have  a  curious  example  of 

*hese  questions  symposiar<s,  as  be-  this  in  a  letter  of  Marcus  Aureliu? 

ing  MreJl  fitted  tc  stimidate  minds  preserved    by   Grallicaniis    in    his 

already  mellowed  by  wine.  Life  of  Avidius  Ca-'isiics. 
■'  xTiii.  2. 


THE    PAGAN    ESiriRE.  317 

deb'glitetl  in  cases  of  conscience,  which  they  discussed  svilh 
the  sulitilty  of  the  schoolmen. 

Lactantiiis  has  remarked  that  the  Stoics  were  espcciull} 
noted  for  the  })opiihxr  or  democratic  character  of  thei' 
teaching.'  To  their  success  in  this  respect  their  alliance  with 
the  rhetoricians  probably  largely  contributed  ;  but  in  othei' 
ways  it  hastened  the  downfall  of  the  school.  The  useless 
speculations,  refinements,  and  paradoxes  which  the  subtle 
genius  of  Chrysij^pus  had  connected  with  the  simple  morala 
of  Stoicism,  had  been  for  the  most  part  thrown  into  the 
background  by  the  early  Roman  Stoics  ;  but  in  the  teaching 
of  the  rhetoricians  they  became  supreme.  The  endowments 
given  by  the  Antonines  to  philosophers  attracted  a  multi- 
tude of  impostors,  who  wore  long  beards  and  the  dress  of 
the  philosopher,  but  whose  lives  were  notoriously  im- 
moral. The  Cynics  especially,  professing  to  reject  the 
ordinary  conventionalities  of  society,  and  being  under 
none  of  that  discipline  or  superintendence  which  in  the 
woi'st  period  has  sccui-ed  at  least  extei-nal  morality  among 
the  mendicant  monks,  continually  threw  off  every  vestige  of 
^drtue  and  of  decency.  Instead  of  moulding  great  characters 
and  inspii-ing  heroic  actions,  Stoicism  became  a  school  of  the 
idlest  casuistry,  or  the  cloak  for  manifest  imposture. ^  The 
very  generation  wliich  saw  Maicus  Aurelius  on  the  throne, 
saw  also  the  extinction  of  the  influence  of  his  sect. 

The  internal  causes  of  the  decadence  of  Stoicism,  though 
very    powerful,    are   insufficient   to   explain    this    complete 


'  '  Senserunt  hoe  Stoici  qui  ser\'is  philosophers.     See  the  language  (.f 

et  inulieribus  philosophanduni  esse  Epictetiis  in  Arrian,  ii.   19,  iv.   8, 

diserunt.' — Lact.  ^((f.  Div.  iii.  25.  and  of  Herod  Atticus  in  Aul.  Geil. 

Zeno    was    often     repi'oached     for  i.   2,  ix.   2.     St.  Augustine  !^peakH 

gathering  the  poorest  and  most  sor-  of  the  Cynics  as  having  in  bis  time 

did  around  him  when  he  lectured,  sunk  n.to  universal  contempt.    See 

(Dii'g.  Laert.  Zeno.)  much    evidence  on  this  subject  in 

-  This  decadence  was  noticed  and  Friedlsender,  Hist,  des  Maurs  Ro- 

rel  ukcd    by  some  of   liie   leading  ijuivus,  tome  iv.  378-385. 


318  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

eclipse.  The  chief  cause  must  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the 
minds  of  men  had  taken  a  new  turn,  and  their  entlmsiasm 
was  flowing  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Oriental  reUgions, 
and,  under  the  gLiidance  of  Plotinus,  Porphyry,  lamblichuS; 
and  Proclus,  of  a  mythical  philosophy  which  was  partlj 
Egy]Dtian  and  partly  Platonic.  It  remains  for  me,  in  con- 
cluding this  re\dew  of  the  Pagan  empire,  to  indicate  and  ex- 
plain this  last  transformation  of  Pagan  morals. 

It  was  in  the  first  place  a  very  natural  reaction  a,gainst 
the  extreme  aridity  of  the  Stoical  casuistry,  and  also  against 
the  scepticism  which  Sextus  Empii^icus  had  revived,  and  in 
this  respect  it  represents  a  law  of  the  human  mind  which 
has  been  more  than  once  illusti-ated  in  later  times  Thus, 
the  captious,  unsatisfying,  intellectual  subtleties  of  the 
schoolmen  were  met  by  the  purely  emotional  and  mystical 
school  of  St.  BonaA^entura,  and  afterwards  of  Tauler,  and 
thus  the  adoration  of  the  human  intellect,  that  was  general 
in  the  philosophy  of  the  last  century,  prepared  the  way 
for  the  complete  denial  of  its  competency  by  De  Maistre  and 
by  Lamennais. 

In  the  next  place,  mysticism  was  a  normal  continuation 
of  the  spiritualising  movement  which  had  long  been  ad- 
vancing. We  have  already  seen  that  the  strong  tendency  of 
ethics,  from  Cato  to  Marcus  AurcHus,  was  to  enlarge  the 
prominence  of  the  emotions  in  the  type  of  virtue.  The  form- 
ation of  a  gentle,  a  spiritual,  and,  in  a  word,  a  religious 
character  had  become  a  prominent  part  of  moral  cultui'e,  and 
it  was  regarded  not  simply  as  a  means,  but  as  an  end.  Still, 
both  Marcus  Aurelius  and  Cato  were  Stoics.  They  both 
represented  the  same  general  cast  or  conception  of  vn-tue, 
although  in  Marcus  Am^elius  the  type  had  been  profoundly 
modified.  But  the  time  was  soon  to  come  when  the  balance 
between  the  practical  and  the  emotional  parts  of  vii-tue, 
v\^hich  had  been  steadily  changing,  should  be  decisively  turned 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIHE.  319 

ill  favour  of  the  latter,  and  the  type  of  Stoicism  was  then 
necessarily  discarded. 

A  concurrence  of  political  and  commercial  causes  had 
arisen,  very  favourable  to  the  propagation  of  Oriental  beliefs. 
(Commerce  had  produced  a  constant  intercourse  between  Eg}"pt 
and  ]  taly.  Great  numbers  of  Oriental  slaves,  23assionately 
devoted  to  their  national  religions,  existed  in  Rome ;  and 
Alexandria,  which  combined  a  gi-eat  intellectual  development 
with  a  geogi-aphical  and  commercial  position  exceedingly 
favourable  to  a  fusion  of  many  doctrines,  soon  created  a 
school  of  thought  which  acted  powerfully  upon  the  world. 
Four  great  systems  of  eclecticism  arose ;  Aristobulus  and 
Philo  tinctured  Judaism  with  Greek  and  Eg3rptian  philo- 
sophy. The  Gnostics  and  the  Alexandrian  fathers  united, 
though  in  very  different  proportions.  Christian  doctrines  with 
the  same  elements  ;  while  Neop^atonism,  at  least  in  its  later 
forms,  repi-esented  a  fusion  of  the  Greek  and  Egyj^tian  mind. 
A  great  analogy  was  discovered  between  the  ideal  philosophy 
of  Plato  and  tlie  mystical  philosophy  that  was  indigenous  to 
the  East,  and  the  two  systems  readily  blended.* 

But  the  most  powerful  cause  of  the  movement  was  the 
intense  desire  for  positive  religious  belief,  which  had  long 
been  growing  in  the  Empire.  The  period  when  Roman 
incredulity  reached  its  extreme  point  had  been  the  century 
that  preceded  and  the  half  century  that  followed  the  bii-th 
of  Christ.  The  sudden  dissolution  of  the  old  habits  of  the 
Republic  effected  through  political  causes,  the  first  comparison 
of  the  multitudinous  religions  of  the  Empire  and  also  the 
writings  of  Euhemerus  had  produced  an  absolute  religious 
disbelief  which  Epicureanism  represented  and  encouraged. 
This  belief,  however,  as  I  have  already  noticed,  co- existed 
with  numerous  magical  and   astrological  superstitions,   and 

'  Tliis   inoveinent    is   well    treated   by   Yacherot,    Hist,    de     Cfk-oU 
dMesandrie. 


320  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

the  ignorance  of  physical  science  was  so  great,  and  the  con- 
ception of  general  laws  so  faint,  that  the  materials  for  a  great 
revival  of  superstition  still  remained.  From  the  miJd'e  of 
We  first  century,  a  more  believing  and  reverent  spiiit  Legan 
to  arise.  The  worship  of  Isis  and  Serapis  forced  its  way  into 
Rome  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  the  rulers.  Apollonius  of 
Tyana,  at  the  close  of  the  Flavian  period,  had  endeavoured 
to  unite  moral  teaching  with  religious  practices  ;  the  oracles, 
which  had  long  ceased,  were  partially  restored  under  the 
Antonines  ;  the  calamities  and  visible  decline  of  the  Empire 
withdrew  the  minds  of  men  from  that  proud  patriotic  wor- 
ship of  Roman  greatness,  which  was  long  a  substitute  for 
religious  feeling ;  and  the  frightful  pestilence  that  swept  over 
the  land  in  the  reigns  of  Marcus  Aurelius  and  his  successor 
was  followed  by  a  blind,  feverish,  and  spasmodic  superstition. 
Besides  this,  men  have  never  acquiesced  for  any  considerable 
time  in  a  neglect  of  the  great  problems  of  the  origin,  nature, 
and  destinies  of  the  soul,  or  dispensed  with  some  form  of  reli- 
gious worship  and  aspiiation.  That  religious  instincts  are 
as  truly  a  part  of  our  natuie  as  are  our  appetites  and  our 
nerves,  is  a  fact  which  all  history  establishes,  and  which 
forms  one  of  the  strongest  proofs  of  the  reality  of  that 
unseen  world  to  which  the  soul  of  man  continually  tends. 
Early  Roman  Stoicism,  which  in  this  respect  somewhat 
resembled  the  modern  positive  school,  diverted  for  the  most 
part  its  votaries  from  the  great  problems  of  religion,  and 
attempted  to  evolve  its  entire  system  of  ethics  out  of  existing 
human  nature,  without  appealing  to  any  external  super- 
natural sanction.  But  the  Platonic  school,  and  the  Egyptian 
school  which  connected  itself  with  the  name  of  Pythagoras, 
were  both  essentially  religious.  The  first  aspired  to  the 
Deity  as  the  source  and  model  of  virtue,  admitted  daemons 
or  subordinate  spiritual  agents  acting  upon  mankind,  and  ex- 
plaLQed  and  purified,  in  no  hostile  spirit,  the  popular  reli- 
gioni?.     The  latter  made  the  state  of  ecstasy  or  quietism  ita 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  321 

irleal  condition,  and  sought  to  purify  the  mind  by  theurgy  or 
special  religions  rites.  Both  philosophies  conspired  to  eflect 
a  great  religious  reformation,  in  which  the  Greek  spirit 
ii-iually  represented  the  rational,  and  the  Egyptiaii  the 
mystical,  element. 

Of  the  first,  Plutarch  was  the  head.  He  taught  t-he 
snprome  authority  of  reason.  He  argued  elaborately  that 
superstition  is  worse  than  atheism,  for  it  calumniates  the 
character  of  the  Deity,  and  its  evils  are  not  negative,  but 
positive.  At  the  same  time,  he  is  far  from  regarding  the 
Mythology  as  a  tissue  of  fables.  Some  things  he  denies. 
Others  he  explains  away.  Others  he  frankly  accepts.  He 
teaches  for  the  most  part  a  pure  monotheism,  which  he  recon- 
ciles with  the  common  belief,  partly  by  describing  the  dif- 
ferent divinities  as  simply  popular  personifications  of  Divine 
attributes,  and  partly  by  the  usual  explanation  of  daemons. 
He  discarded  most  of  the  fables  of  the  })oets,  appl5^ing  to 
them  with  fearless  severity  the  tests  of  human  morality,  and 
rejecting  indignantly  those  which  attribute  to  the  Deity 
cruel  or  immoral  actions.  He  denoTinces  all  religious  ter- 
rorism, and  draws  a  broad  line  of  distinction  between  both 
the  superstitious  and  idolatrous  conception  of  the  Deity  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  philosophical  conception  on  the  other. 
*  The  superstitious  man  believes  in  the  gods,  but  he  has  a 
false  idea  of  their  nature.  Those  good  beings  whose  provi- 
dence watches  over  us  with  so  much  care,  those  beings  so 
ready  to  forget  our  faults,  he  represents  as  ferocious  and  cruel 
tyrants,  taking  pleasure  in  tormenting  us.  He  believes  the 
founders  of  brass,  the  sculptors  of  stone,  the  moulders  of 
wax  ;  he  attributes  to  the  gods  a  human  form ;  he  adorns 
and  worships  the  image  he  has  made,  and  he  listens  not  to 
the  philosophers,  and  men  of  knowledge  who  associate  the 
Div^ine  image,  not  with  bodily  beauty,  but  with  grandeur  and 
majost}',  with  gentleness  and  goodness.' '     On  the  other  hand, 

'  De  Sujcrstitione. 


322  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

Plutarch,  believed  that  there  was  undoubtedly  a  certain  super- 
natural basis  in  the  Pagan  creed  ;  he  believed  in  oracles  ;  he 
defended,  in  a  very  ingenious  essay,  hereditary  punishment, 
and  the  doctrine  of  a  special  Providence;  he  admitted  a 
future  retribution,  though  he  repudiated  the  notion  of 
physical  torment ;  and  he  brought  into  clear  relief  the  moral 
iea<;hing  conveyed  in  some  of  the  fables  of  the  poets. 

The  position  which  Plutarch  occupied  under  Trajan, 
Maximus  of  Tyi-e  occupied  in  the  next  generation.  Like 
Plutarch,  but  with  a  greater  consistency,  he  maintained  a 
piu'e  monotheistic  doctrine,  declaring  that  '  Zeus  is  that  most 
ancient  and  guiding  mind  that  begot  all  things — Athene  is 
prudence — Apollo  is  the  sun.'^  Like  Plutarch,  he  developed 
the  Platonic  doctrine  of  daemons  as  an  explanation  of  much 
of  the  mythology,  and  he  applied  an  allegorical  interpretation 
with  great  freedom  to  the  fables  of  Homer,  which  formed  the 
text-book  or  the  Bible  of  Paganism.  By  these  means  he 
endeavoured  to  clarify  the  popular  creed  from  ail  elements 
inconsistent  with  a  jjure  monotheism,  and  from  all  legends 
of  doubtful  morality,  wliile  he  sublimated  the  popular  worship 
into  a  harmless  symbolism.  *  The  gods,'  he  assures  us, '  them- 
selves need  no  images,'  but  the  infirmity  of  human  nature  re- 
quires visible  signs  '  on  which  to  rest.'  '  Those  who  possess 
such  faculties,  that  with  a  steady  mind  they  can  rise  to 
heaven,  and  to  God,  are  in  no  need  of  statues.  But  such  men 
are  very  rare.'  He  then  proceeds  to  recount  the  different 
ways  by  which  men  have  endeavoured  to  represent  or 
symbolise  the  Divine  nature,  as  the  statues  of  Greece,  the 
animals  of  Egypt,  or  the  sacred  flame  of  Persia.  '  The  God,' 
he  continues,  '  the  Father  and  the  Founder  of  all  that  exists, 
older  than  the  sim,  older  than  the  sky,  greater  than  all  time, 
than  every  age,  and  than  all  the  works  of  nature,  whom  no 
words  can  expi*ess,  whom  no  eye  can  see  .  .  .  What  can  we 

'  Dissertations,  x,  §  8  (ed.  Davis,   London,   1740).     In  some  clitic ni 
this  is  Diss.  xxix. 


THE    TAGA^s    EMPIRE.  323 

ray  coDccmiug  his  images'?  Only  let  men  undei-stand  that 
there  is  but  one  Di\dne  natiu*e ;  but  whether  the  art  oi 
Pliidias  chieHy  preserves  his  memory  among  the  Greeks,  or 
the  worship  of  animals  among  the  Egyi)tians,  a  liver  among 
these,  or  a  flame  among  those,  I  do  not  blame  the  variety  of 
the  representations — only  let  men  understand  that  there  is 
but  one ;  only  let  them  love  one,  lot  them  preserve  one  in 
their  memory.'^ 

A  thii'd  writer  who,  nearly  at  the  same  time  as  Maximus 
of  Tyre,  made  some  efforts  in  the  same  direction,  was  Apu- 
leius,  who,  however,  both  as  a  moral  teacher,  and  in  his 
freedom  from  superstition,  was  fixr  inferior  to  the  preceding. 
The  religion  he  most  admii-ed  was  the  EgyjDt'an ;  but  in  his 
philosophy  he  was  a  Platonist,  and  in  that  capacity,  besides 
an  exposition  of  the  Platonic  code  of  morals,  he  has  left  us  a 
singularly  clear  and  striking  disquisition  on  the  docti-ine  of 
daemons.  '  These  daemons,'  he  says, '  are  the  bearers  of 
blessings  and  prayers  between  the  inliabitants  of  earth  and 
heaven,  carrying  prayers  from  the  one  and  assistance  fi'om 
the  other  .  .  .  By  them  also,  as  Plato  maintained  in  his 
"  Banquet,"  all  revelations,  all  the  various  mii'acles  of 
magicians,  all  kinds  of  omens,  are  ruled.  They  have  their 
several  tasks  to  perform,  their  different  departments  to 
govern ;  some  dn*ecting  di^eams,  others  the  disposition  of  the 
enti-ails,  others  the  flight  of  biivls  .  .  .  The  supreme  deities 
do  not  descend  to  these  things— they  leave  them  to  the 
intermediate  divinities.' ^  But  these  intermediate  spirits  are 
not  simply  the  agents  of  suiiernatural  phenomena— they  are 
also  the  guardians  of  our  vii-tue  and  the  recorders  of  our 
actions.  '  Each  man  has  in  life  witnesses  and  guards  of  his 
deeds,  visible  to  no  one,  but  always  present,  witnessing  not 
only  every  act  but  every  thought.  When  life  has  ended  and 
^e  must  return  whence  we  came,  the  same  genius  who  had 


Busert.  xxxviii.  2  j)^  J)(emone  Socratis. 


324  nisTOEY  OF  eueopean  morals. 

charge  over  ns,  takes  us  away  and  hurries  us  in  his  custody 
tc  judgment,  and  then  assists  us  in  pleading  our  cause.  If 
any  thing  is  falsely  asserted  he  coiTects  it— if  true,  he  sul.)- 
stantiates  it,  and  according  to  his  witness  our  sentence  is 
determined.'^ 

There  are  many  aspects  in  which  these  attempts  at  re 
ligious  refoi-m  are  both  interesting  and  important,  'll^cy 
are  interesting,  because  the  doctrine  of  daemons,  mingled,  it 
is  true,  mth  the  theory  of  Euhemerus  about  the  origin  of  the 
deities,  was  universally  accepted  by  the  Fathers  as  the  true 
explanation  of  the  Pagan  theology,  because  the  notion  and, 
after  the  third  centiuy,  even  the  artistic  type  of  the  guar- 
dian genius  reajjpeared  in  that  of  the  guardian  angel,  and 
because  the  transition  from  polytheism  to  the  conception  of  a 
single  deity  acting  by  the  delegation  or  ministration  of  an 
army  of  subsidiary  spii'its,  was  manifestly  fitted  to  prepai"e 
the  way  for  tlie  i-eception  of  Christianity.  They  are  in- 
teresting, too,  as  showing  the  anxiety  of  the  human  mind  to 
sublimate  its  religious  creed  to  the  level  of  the  moral  and 
intellectual  standard  it  had  attained,  and  to  make  religious 
ordinances  in  some  degree  the  instruments  of  moral  improve- 
ment. But  they  are  interesting  above  all,  because  the  Greek 
and  Egyptian  methods  of  reform  represent  with  typical 
distinctness  the  two  gi-eat  tendencies  of  religious  thought  in 
all  succeeding  periods.  The  Greek  spiiit  was  essentially 
rationalistic  and  eclectic ;  the  Egy]jtian  spirit  was  essentially 
mystical  and  devotional.  The  Greek  sat  in  judgment  upon 
his  religion.  lie  modified,  ciu-tailed,  refined,  allegorised,  or 
selected.  iHe  treated  its  inconsistencies  or  absurdities,  or 
immoralities,  with  precisely  the  same  freedom  of  criticism 
as  those  he  encountered  in  ordinaiy  life.  The  Egyptian, 
on  the  other  hand,  bowed  low  before  the  Divine  preseu(^e. 

'  l)e  Damonc  Socratis.      See,  on     Ammianus  Marcell.  xxi.   14.     SeOj 
the  office  of  dseraons  or  genii,  Ar-    too,  Plotinus,  3rd  Enn.  lil>.  iv. 
rian  i.  14-,  and  a  curious  chaptei-  in 


THE    TAfiAN    EMPIRE.  325 

EIti  Swelled  his  eyes,  he  humbled  his  i-eason,  he  represented  the 
introduction  of  a  new  element  into  the  moral  life  of  Europe, 
the  spirit  of  religious  reverence  and  awe. 

*  The  Egyptian  deities,'  it  was  o])served  by  Apuleius, 
^  were  chiefly  honoured  by  lamentations,  and  the  Greek 
divinities  by  dances.'  '  The  truth  of  the  last  part  of  thia 
very  significant  remark  appears  in  every  page  of  Greek 
liistory.  No  nation  had  a  richer  collection  of  games  and 
festivals  gi-owing  out  of  its  religious  system ;  in  none  did  a 
light,  sportive,  and  often  licentious  fancy  play  more  fear- 
lessly around  the  popular  creed,  in  none  was  religious  terror- 
ism more  rare.  The  Divinity  was  seldom  looked  upon  as 
holier  than  man,  and  a  due  observance  of  certain  rites  and 
ceremonies  was  deemed  an  ample  tribute  to  pay  to  him.  In 
the  Egyptian  system  the  religious  ceremonies  were  veiled  in 
mystery  and  allegory.  Chastity,  abstinence  from  animal 
food,  ablutions,  long  and  mysterious  ceremonies  of  pre- 
paration or  initiation,  were  the  most  prominent  featm-es  of 
woi-ship.  The  deities  representing  the  great  forces  of  nature, 
and  shrouded  by  mysterious  symbols,  excited  a  degi-ee  of  awe 
which  no  other  ancient  religion  approached. 

The  speculative  philosophy,  and  the  conceptions  of  morals, 
that  accompanied  the  im-oad  of  Oriental  religions,  were  of  a 
kindred  nature.  The  most  prominent  characteristic  of  the 
fii'st  was  its  tendency  to  supersede  the  deductions  of  the  reason 
by  the  intmtions  of  ecstasy.  Neoplatonism,  and  the  phi- 
losophies that  were  allied  to  it,  were  fundamentally  pan- 
theistic,^  but  they  differed  widely  from  the  pantheism  of  the 
Stoics.  The  Stoics  identified  man  with  God,  for  the  purj)ose 
of  glorifying  man — the  Neoplatonists  for  the  purpose  of 
aggi-andising  God.  In  the  conception  of  the  first,  man,  in- 
dependent, self  controlled,  and  participating  in  the  highest 


•  De  Bamone  Socratis.  point  to  Plato,  and  was  in  conse- 

^  I  should  except  Plotinns,  how-     quence  much  praised  by  the  Chris- 
evev,    who   was    faithful    in    this    tian  Fathers. 


326  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    :&10RALS. 

Qature  of  the  universe,  has  no  superior  in  creation.  Accord 
uig  to  the  latter,  man  is  almost  a  passive  being,  swayed  and 
permeated  by  a  divine  impulse.  Yet  he  is  not  altogether 
divine.  The  di^dnity  is  latent  in  his  soul,  but  dulled, 
dimmed^  and  crushed  by  the  tyranny  of  the  body.  '  To  bring 
the  Gcd  that  is  in  us  into  conformity  with  the  God  that  is  in 
the  univei'se,'  to  elicit  the  ideas  that  are  graven  in  the  mind- 
but  obscm-ed  and  hidden  by  the  passions  of  the  flesh — above  all, 
to  subdue  the  body,  which  is  the  sole  obstacle  to  our  complete 
fruition  of  the  Deity — was  the  main  object  of  life.  Porphyry 
described  all  philosophy  as  an  anticipation  of  death — not  in 
the  Stoical  sense  of  teaching  us  to  look  calmly  on  our  end, 
but  because  death  realises  the  ideal  of  philosophy,  the  com- 
plete separation  of  soul  and  body.  Hence  followed  an  ascetic 
morality,  and  a  supersensual  philosophy.  *  The  gi-eatest  of 
all  evils,'  we  are  told,  '  is  pleasm-e ;  because  by  it  the  soul  is 
nailed  or  riveted  to  the  body,  and  thinks  that  true  which  the 
body  persuades  it,  and  is  thus  deprived  of  the  sense  of  divine 
things.' '  '  Justice,  beauty,  and  goodness,  and  all  things  that 
are  formed  by  them,  no  eye  has  ever  seen,  no  bodily  sense 
can  apprehend.  Philosophy  must  be  pursued  by  pure  and 
unmingled  reason  and  with  deadened  sen^  es ;  for  the  body 
disturbs  the  mind,  so  that  it  cannot  follow  after  wisdom.  As 
long  as  it  is  lost  and  mingled  in  the  clay,  we  shall  never  suffi- 
ciently possess  the  truth  we  desire.'  "^ 

But  the  reason  which  is  thus  extolled  as  the  revealer  of 
truth  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  process  of  reasoning. 
It  is  sometliing  quite  different  from  criticism,  analysis, 
comparison,  or  deduction.  It  is  essentially  intuitive,  but  it 
only  acquii'os  its  power  of  transcendental  intuition  after  a 


''Omnium  malorum   maximum  aspectu '  —  lambliclius,    J)e    Secta 

volupt  IS,   qua    tanquam   clavo    et  Vyihagor.    (Eomae,    1556),    p.    38. 

filmla  anima  corpori  nectitur;  pu-  Plotinus,  1st  Enn.  vi.  6. 

tatqui."  vera  quae  et  corpus  suadet,  ^  j)^  g(,(,f^  Pyth.  pp.  36,  37. 
et  ita  spoliatur  rorum  diviuarum 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  827 

loEg  pi'ocess  ot  discipline.  \Vlien  a  mau  passes  from  the 
daylight  into  a  room  which  is  almost  dark,  he  is  at  first 
absohitely  unable  to  see  the  objects  around  him  ;  but  gradu 
ally  his  eye  grows  accustomed  to  the  feeble  light,  the  outline 
of  the  room  becomes  dimly  visible,  object  after  object  emerges 
into  sight,  until  at  last,  by  intently  gazing,  he  acquii*es  the 
power  of  seeing  around  him  with  tolerable  distinctness.  In 
thi£  fact  we  have  a  partial  image  of  the  Neoplatonic  doctrine 
of  the  knowledge  of  divine  things.  Our  soul  is  a  dark  chamber, 
darkened  by  contact  with  the  flesh,  but  in  it  there  are  gi-aven 
divine  ideas,  there  exists  a  living  divine  element.  The  eye  of 
reason,  by  long  and  steady  introspection,  can  learn  to  deci- 
pher these  characters ;  the  will,  aided  by  an  appointed  course 
of  discipline,  can  evoke  this  divine  element,  and  cause  it  to 
blend  with  the  universal  spirit  from  which  it  sprang.  The 
powers  of  mental  concentration,  and  of  metaphysical  abstrac- 
tion, are  therefore  the  highest  intellectual  gifts;  and  quietism, 
or  the  absorption  of  our  nature  in  God,  is  the  last  stage  of  virtue. 
'  The  end  of  man,'  said  Pythagoras,  'is  God.'  The  mysterious 
*  One,'  the  metaphysical  abstraction  without  attributes  and 
wdthout  form  which  constitutes  the  Fii'st  Person  of  the  Alex- 
andrian Trinity,  is  the  acme  of  human  thought,  and  the  condition 
of  ecstasy  is  the  acme  of  moral  perfection.  Plotinus,  it  was 
said,  had  several  times  attained  it.  Porphyry,  after  years  of 
discipline,  once,  and  but  once.  ^  The  process  of  reasoning  is 
here  not  only  useless,  but  pernicious.  '  An  innate  knowledge 
of  the  gods  is  implanted  in  our  minds  prior  to  all  reasoning. '^ 
In  divine  things  the  task  of  man  is  not  to  create  or  to 
acquire,  but  to  educe.  His  means  of  perfection  are  not 
dialectics  or  research,  but  long  and  patient  meditation,  silence, 
abstinence  from  the  distractions  and  occupations  of  life,  the 
subjugation  of  the  flesh,  a  life  of  continual  discipline,  a 
constant  attendance  on  those  mysterious  rites  which  detach 


Porphyry,  Life  of  Plotinus.  ^  lamblichus,  De  Mysteriis,  1. 


328  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

him  from  material  objects,  overawe  and  elevate  his  mind,  and 
quicken  his  realisation  of  the  Divine  pi-esence.^ 

The  system  of  Neoplatonism  represents  a  mode  of  thonglil 
v.liich  in  many  forms,  and  under  many  names,  may  be  traced 
through    the    most   various   ages    and    creeds.      Mysticism, 
transcendenta  ism,    inspiration,    and    grace,   are    all    words 
expressing  the  deep-seated  belief  that  we  possess  fountains  of 
knowledge  apart  from  a,ll  the  acquisitions  of  the  senses ;  that 
there  are  certain  states  of  mind,  certain  flashes  of  moral  and 
intellectual  illumination,  which  cannot  be  accounted  for  by 
any  play  or  combination  of  our  ordinary  facidties.     For  the 
sobriety,  the  timidity,  the  fluctuations  of  the  reasoning  spii'it, 
Neoplatonism  substituted  the  transports  of  the  imagination ; 
and,  though   it  cultivated  the  powxr  of  absti-action,  every 
other   intellectual   gift    was   sacrificed   to    the   discipline   of 
asceticism.      It  made  men  credulous,  because  it  suppressed 
that  critical  spiiit  which  is   the    sole  barrier  to  the   ever- 
encroaching  imagination ;  because  it  represented  superstitious 
rites  as  especially  conducive  to  that  state  of  ecstasy  which 
was  the  condition  of  revelation ;  because  it  formed  a  nervous, 
diseased,  expectant  temperament,  ever  prone  to  hallucinations, 
ever  agitated    by  vague   and   uncertain   feelings  that    were 
readily   attributed   to   inspii-ation.     As   a   moral  system    it 
carried,  indeed,  the  pm^ification  of  the  feelings  and  imagination 
to  a  higher  perfection  than  any  preceding  school,  but  it  had 
the  deadly   fault  of  separating  sentiment  from  action.      In 
this  respect  it  was  well  fitted  to  be  the  close,  the  final  suicide, 
of  Roman  philosophy.     Cicero  assigned  a  place  of  happiness 
in  the  future  world  to  all  who  faithfully  served  the  State. ^ 
The  Stoics  had  taught  that  all  virtue  w^as  vain  that  did  not 
issue   in   action.      Even    Epictetus,    in   his   portrait   of  the 


'  See,  on  this  ioctriue  of  ecstasy,  conservaA-erint,    adjuveriVit,    aiixe- 

Vacherot,  Hist,  de  VEcole   d'Al  x-  rint,  certum  esse  in  coelo  ac  defini- 

indrif,  tome  i.  p.  576.  &c.  turn  locum  ubi  beati  seA-osempiternc 

*  'Sichabeto,  omnibus  qui  patrinm  fruantur.'—  Cic.  Sovin.  Scip. 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  329 

ascetic  C}Tiic — even  Marciis  Aiirelius,  in  his  minute  self- 
examination — had  never  forgotten  the  outer  world.  The 
early  Platonists,  though  they  dwelt  very  strongly  on  mental 
discipline,  were  equally  practical.  Plutarch  reminds  us  that 
tlie  isame  word  is  used  for  light,  and  for  man,'  for  the  duty  of 
ma!i  is  to  be  the  light  of  the  world;  and  he  shrewdly 
remarked  that  Hesiod  exhoi-ted  the  husbandman  to  pray  for 
the  harvest,  but  to  do  so  with  his  hand  upon  the  plough. 
Apuleius,  expounding  Plato,  taught  *  that  he  who  is  inspii^ed 
by  nature  to  seek  after  good  must  not  deem  himself  born  for 
himself  alone,  but  for  all  mankind,  though  with  diverse  kinds 
and  degrees  of  obligation,  for  he  is  formed  first  of  all  for  his 
country,  then  for  his  relations,  then  for  those  with  whom  ho 
is  joined  by  occupation  or  knowledge.'  IMaximus  of  Tyro 
devoted  two  noble  essays  to  showing  the  vanity  of  all  virtue 
which  exhausts  itself  in  mental  transports  without  radiating 
in  action  among  mankind.  '  Wliat  use,'  he  asked,  '  is  there 
in  knowledge  unless  we  do  those  things  for  which  knowledge 
is  profitable  1  What  use  is  there  in  the  skill  of  the  physician 
unless  by  that  skill  he  heals  the  sick,  or  in  the  art  of  Phidias 
unless  he  chisels  the  ivory  or  the  gold.  .  ,  .  Hercules  was  a 
wise  man,  but  not  for  himself,  but  that  by  his  wisdom  he 
might  diffuse  benefits  over  every  land  and  sea.  .  .  Had  he 
preferred  to  lead  a  life  apait  from  men,  and  to  follow  an  idle 
wisdom,  Hercules  would  indeed  haxe  been  a  Sophist,  and  no 
one  would  call  him  the  son  of  Zeus.  For  God  himself  is 
never  idle ;  were  He  to  rest,  the  sky  would  cease  to  move, 
and  the  earth  to  produce,  and  the  rivers  to  flow  into  the 
ocean,  and  the  seasons  to  pursue  theii-  ap23ointed  course.'^ 
But  the  Neoplatonists,  though  they  sometimes  spoke  of  civic 


'  4>c5y,  which,  according  to  Plu-  Aurolius,  who  speaks  of  the  good 

larch  ('vlio  here  confuses  two  dis-  man  as  light  which  only  ceases  to 

tinct  words),  is  poetically  used  for  shine  when  it  ceases  to  he. 
man    {De   Latenter    Vivendo).      A         -  Diss.  xxi.  §  6. 
similar     thought    occurs     in     M. 

23 


330  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    I^IORALS. 

virtues,  regarded  the  condition  of  ecstasy  as  not  only  ti-an- 
scending,  but  including  all,  and  that  condition  could  only  be 
ariived  at  by  a  passive  life.  The  saying  of  Anaxagoras,  that 
Ids  mission  was  to  contemplate  the  sun,  the  stars,  and  tb? 
course  of  nature,  and  that  this  contemplation  was  wisdom,' 
was  accepted  as  an  epitome  of  their  philosophy. '  A  senator 
named  Rogantianus,  who  had  followed  the  teaching  of 
Plotinus,  acquired  so  intense  a  disgust  for  the  things  of  life, 
that  he  left  all  his  property,  refused  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  a 
praetor,  abandoned  his  senatorial  fimctions,  and  withdrew 
liimself  from  every  form  of  business  and  pleasure.  Plotinus, 
instead  of  reproaching  him,  overwhelmed  Mm  ^\dth  eulogy, 
selected  him  as  his  favourite  disciple,  and  continually  re- 
presented him  as  the  model  of  a  philosopher.  ^ 

The  two  characteristics  I  have  noticed — the  abandon- 
ment of  civic  duties,  and  the  discouragement  of  tlie  critical 
spirit— had  from  a  very  early  period  been  manifest  in  the 
Pythagorean  school.^  In  the  blending  philosophies  of  the 
third  and  fourth  centuries,  they  became  continually  more 
apparent.  Plotinus  was  still  an  independent  philosopher, 
inheriting  the  traditions  of  Greek  thought,  though  not  the 
traditions  of  Greek  life,  building  his  system  avowedly  by  a 
rational  method,  and  altogether  rejecting  theurgy  or  religious 
magic.  His  disciple,  Porphyry,  first  made  Neop^atonism 
anti-Christian,  and,  in  his  violent  antipathy  to  the  new  faith, 
began  to  convert  it  into  a  religious  system.  lamblichus, 
who  was  himself  an  Egyptian  priest,  completed  the  trans- 

'  I-Amhlichns,  Be  Sect.  P^thagora,  deavoured  to  detach   his  diseipks 

p   35^  from  all  occnprition  other  tlian  phi- 

2  Porphyry,  Life  of  Plotinus,  cap.  losop hy.  —PhUostr.  Apoll.  of  Tyana, 

vii. ;  Plotiuus,  \%\,  Enn.  iv.  7.    See  iv.  2.     Cicero  notices  the  aversion 

on   this    subject  Degerando,  Hht.  the  Pvthngoreans  of  his  time  dis- 

dela  Philos.w.^.Z'6'i.  played    to   argument:    -Quum    ex 

'  Thus  it  was  said  of  Apollonius  iis  qusereretur  qiiare  ita  esset._  re- 

that  in  his  teaching  at  Ephesus  he  spondere  solitos,  Ipse  dixit ;    ipse 

did  not  speak  aftei  the  manner  of  autem_  erat  Pythagoras.' — De  Nat. 

the  followers  of  Socrates,  but  en-  Deor.  i.  5. 


THE    TAG  AN    EMPIRE  33  J 

formation,'  lesolved  all  moral  discipline  into  tlieurgy,  and 
Bacrificed  all  reasoning  to  faith.^  Julian  attempted  to  realise 
the  conception  of  a  revived  Paganism,  blending  with  and 
purified  by  philosophy.  In  every  form  the  api^etite  for 
miracles  and  for  belief  was  displayed.  The  theory  of 
dsemons  completely  superseded  the  old  Stoical  naturalism, 
wliich  regarded  the  different  Pagan  divinities  as  allegories  or 
personifications  of  the  Divine  attributes.  The  Platonic 
ethics  were  again,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  ascendant,  but 
they  were  deeply  tinctured  by  a  foreign  element.  Thus, 
suicide  was  condemned  by  the  Neoplatonists,  not  merely  on 
the  principle  of  Plato,  that  it  is  an  abandonment  of  the  post 
of  duty  to  w^hich  the  Deity  has  called  us,  but  also  on  the 
quietist  ground,  that  j^erturbation  is  necessarily  a  pollution 
of  the  soul,  and  that,  as  mental  perturbation  accompanies 
the  act,  the  soul  of  the  suicide  departs  polluted  from  the 
body.^  The  belief  in  a  future  world,  which  was  the  common 
glory  of  the  schools  of  Pythagoras  and  of  Plato,  had  become 
universal.  As  Roman  gi-eatness,  in  which  men  had  long 
seen  the  reward  of  virtue,  faded  rapidly  away,  the  concep- 
tion of  '  a  city  of  God  '  began  to  gi'ow  more  clearly  in  the 
minds  of  men,  and  the  countless  slaves  wiio  were  among  the 
chief  propagators  of  Oriental  faiths,  and  who  had  begun  to  exer- 
cise an  unprecedented  influence  in  Roman  life,  turned  with  a 
natural  and  a  touching  eagerness  towards  a  happier  and  a  freer 
world.**     The  incredulity  of  Lucretius,  Caesar,  and  Pliny  had 


'  See  Vacherot,  tome  ii.  p.  66.  Cicero  (Ti/sc.  Qucgst.)Bays  that  the 

2  See    Degerando,    Hist,    de    la  Syrian  Pherecydes.  master  of  Pytha- 

VJiilosophie,  tome  iii.  pp.  400,  401.  goras  first  taught  it.     Maxinuis  of 

^  Plotinus,  1st  Kim.  ix.  Tyre  attributes  its  origin  to  Pytha- 

*  See  a  strong    passage,  on    tho  goras,  and  his  shive  Zamoixis  wa..^ 

universality  of  this  belief,  in  Plo-  said    to    have    introduced    it    into 

tiniis,  1st  Env.  i.   12,  and  Origen,  Greece.     Others    say  that   Thales 

Cont.  Cels.  vii.     A  very  old  tradi-  first  t;iught  it.     None  of  these  as- 

lion  i*e presented  the  Egyptians  as  sertions   have   any  real   historical 

the  first  people  who  held  the  doc-  value. 

trine  of  the  immortality  of  the  «oul. 


532  iriSTORY  OF  European  morals. 

disappeared.  Above  all,  a  fuision  had  been  effected  between 
moral  discipline  and  religion,  and  the  moralist  sought  his 
chief  means  of  puiitication  in  the  ceremonies  of  the  temple, 

I  have  now  completed  the  long  and  complicated  task  to 
^^liich  the  present  chapter  has  been  devoted.  I  have  endea- 
voured to  exhibit,  so  far  as  can  be  done,  by  a  description  of 
general  tendencies,  and  by  a  selection  of  quotations,  the 
spii'it  of  the  long  series  of  Pagan  moralists  who  taught  at 
Eome  during  the  period  that  elapsed  between  the  rise  of 
Eoman  philosophy  and  the  triumph  of  Christianity.  My  ob- 
ject has  not  been  to  classify  these  writers  with  minute  accuracy, 
according  to  their  speculative  tenets,  but  rather,  as  I  had  pro- 
posed, to  exhibit  the  origin,  the  natm*e,  and  the  fortunes  of 
the  general  notion  or  type  of  virtue  which  each  morahst  had 
regarded  as  supremely  good.  History  is  not  a  mere  suc- 
cession of  events  connected  only  by  chronology.  It  is  a  chain 
of  causes  and  effects.  There  is  a  gi-eat  natural  difference  of 
degree  and  direction  in  both  the  moral  and  intellectual  capa- 
cities of  individuals,  but  it  is  not  probable  that  the  general 
average  of  natural  morals  in  great  bodies  of  men  materially 
varies.  When  we  find  a  society  very  virtuous  or  very  vicious 
— when  some  particular  vii-tue  or  vice  occupies  a  peculiar 
prominence,  or  when  important  changes  pass  over  the  moiul 
conceptions  or  standard  of  the  people — we  have  to  trace  in 
these  things  simply  the  action  of  the  cii'cumstances  that  were 
dominant.  The  history  of  Roman  ethics  represents  a  steady 
and  uniform  current,  guided  by  the  general  conditions  of 
society,  and  its  progi-ess  may  be  marked  by  the  successive 
ascendancy  of  the  Roman,  the  Greek,  and  the  Egyptian  spirit. 

In  the  age  of  Cato  and  Cicero  the  character  of  the  ideal 
was  wholly  Roman,  although  the  philosophical  expression  of 
that  character  was  derived  from  the  Greek  Stoics.  It  exlii- 
bited  all  the  force,  the  grandeur,  the  hardness,  the  practical 
tendency  which  Roman  cii^cumstances  had  early  created,  com- 
bined with  that  catholicity  of  spirit  which  resulted  from  very 


THE    PAGAN    EMriRE.  333 

recent  political  and  intellectual  changes.  In  the  course  ol 
time,  tLe  Greek  element,  which  represented  the  gentler  and 
more  humane  spirit  of  antiquity,  gained  an  ascendancy.  It 
did  so  by  simple  propagandism,  aided  by  the  long  peace  of 
the  Antonines,  by  the  effeminate  habits  produced  by  the  in- 
cicasing  luxury,  by  the  attractions  of  the  metropolis,  which 
had  drawn  multitudes  of  Greeks  to  Rome,  by  the  patronage 
of  the  Emperors,  and  also  by  the  increasing  realisation  of  the 
doctrine  of  universal  brotherhood,  which  Pansetius  and  Cicero 
had  asserted,  but  of  which  the  fall  consequences  were  only 
perceived  by  their  successors.  The  change  in  the  type  of 
virtue  was  shown  in  the  influence  of  eclectic,  and  for  the  most 
part  Platonic,  moralists,  whose  special  assaults  were  directed 
against  the  Stoical  condemnation  of  the  emotions,  and  in  the 
gradual  softening  of  the  Stoical  type.  In  Seneca  the  hard- 
ness of  the  sect,  though  very  apparent,  is  broken  by  precepts 
of  a  real  and  extensive  benevolence,  though  that  benevo- 
lence springs  rather  from  a  sense  of  duty  than  from  tender- 
ness of  feeling.  In  Dion  Chrysostom  the  practical  benevolence 
is  not  less  prominent,  but  there  is  less  both  of  pride  and  of 
callousness.  Epictetus  embodied  the  sternest  Stoicism  in  his 
Manual,  but  his  dissei-tations  exhibit  a  deep  religious  feeling 
and  a  wide  range  of  sympathies.  In  Marcus  Aurelius  the 
emotional  elements  had  greatly  increased,  and  the  amiable 
qualities  began  to  predominate  over  the  heroic  ones.  We 
find  at  the  same  time  a  new  stress  laid  upon  purity  of  thought 
and  imagination,  a  growing  feeling  of  reverence,  and  an  earnest 
desire  to  reform  the  popular  religion. 

This  second  stage  exhibits  a  happy  combination  of  the 
Roman  and  Greek  spirits.  Disinterested,  strictly  practical, 
averse  to  the  speculative  subtilties  of  the  Greek  intellect, 
Stoicism  was  still  the  religion  of  a  people  who  were  the  rulers 
and  the  organisers  of  the  world,  whose  enthusiasm  was  essen- 
ilally  patriotic,  and  who  had  learat  to  sacrifice  everything  but 
pride  to  the  sense  of  duty.     It  had,  however,  become  amiable, 


334  HISTORY    OF    EDROrEAN    MORALS. 

gentle,  and  spiritual.  It  had  gained  much  in  beauty,  while  it 
had  lost  something  in  force.  In  the  world  of  morals,  as  in 
the  world  of  physics,  strength  is  nearly  allied  to  hardness. 
He  who  feels  keenly  is  easily  moA-ed,  and  a  sensitive  sym- 
pathy which  lies  at  the  root  of  an  amiable  character  is  iii 
'jOLsequence  a  principle  of  weakness.  The  race  of  great  Roman 
Stoics,  which  had  never  ceased  during  the  tyranny  of  Nero  or 
Domitian,  began  to  fail.  In  the  very  moment  when  the  ideal 
of  the  sect  had  attained  its  supreme  perfection,  a  new  movC' 
ment  appeared,  the  philosophy  sank  into  disrepute,  and  the 
last  act  of  the  drp.ma  began. 

In  this,  as  in  the  preceding  ones,  all  was  normal  and 
regular.  The  long  continuance  of  despotic  government  had 
gradually  destroyed  the  active  public  spii'it  of  which  Stoicism 
was  the  expression.  The  predominance  of  the  subtile  intellect 
of  Greece,  and  the  multijjUcation  of  rhetoricians,  had  con- 
verted the  philosophy  into  a  school  of  disputation  and  of 
casuistry.  The  increasing  cultivation  of  the  emotions  con- 
tin  ned,  till  what  may  be  termed  the  moral  centre  was  changed, 
and  the  development  of  feeling  was  deemed  more  important 
than  the  regulation  of  actions.  This  cultivation  of  the  emo- 
tions predisposed  men  to  religion.  A  reaction,  intensified  by 
many  minor  causes,  set  in  against  the  scepticism  of  the  pre- 
ceding generation,  and  Alexandria  gradually  became  the  moral 
capital  of  the  empire.  The  Roman  type  speedily  disappeared. 
A  union  was  effected  between  superstitious  rites  and  philo- 
sophy, and  the  worship  of  Egyptian  deities  prepared  the  way 
for  the  teaching  of  the  Neoplatonists,  who  combined  the  most 
visionary  part  of  the  speculations  of  Plato  with  the  ancient 
pliilosophies  of  the  East.  In  Plotinus  we  find  most  of  the 
first ;  in  lamblichus  most  of  the  second.  The  minds  of  men, 
under  theii*  influence,  grew  introspective,  credulous,  and  super- 
Rtitious,  and  found  their  ideal  states  in  the  hallucinations  of 
ecstasy  and  the  calm  of  an  unpractical  mysticism. 

Such  were  the  influences  which  acted  in  turn  upon  a 
Rociftv  which,    bv  despotism,  by  slavery,   and    by  atrocious 


THE    PAGAN    EMPIRE.  335 

amiiseinonts,  liad  been  debased  and  corrupted  to  the  very 
core.  Each  sect  which  successively  arose  contributed  some- 
tliing  to  remedy  the  evil.  Sto"cism  placed  bejond  cavil  the 
great  distinctions  between  right  and  wrong.  It  inculcated 
the  doctrine  of  universal  brotherhood,  it  created  a  noble  lite- 
ratui-e  and  a  noble  legislation,  and  it  associated  its  mcral 
system  with  the  patriotic  s])irit  which  was  then  the  animating 
spirit  of  Roman  life.  The  early  Platonists  of  the  Era])ire  cor- 
rected the  exaggerations  of  Stoicism,  gave  free  scope  to  the 
amiable  qualities,  and  supplied  a  theory  of  right  and  wrong, 
suited  not  merely  for  heroic  characters  and  for  extreme  emer- 
gencies, but  also  for  the  characters  and  the  cii-cumstances  of 
common  life.  The  Pythagorean  and  Neoplatonic  schools  re- 
vived the  feeling  of  religious  reverence,  inculcated  humQity, 
prayerfulness,  and  purity  of  thought,  and  accustomed  men  to 
associate  their  moral  ideals  with  the  Deity,  rather  than  with 
themselves. 

The  moral  improvement  of  society  was  now  to  pass  into 
other  hands.  A  religion  which  had  long  been  increasing  in 
obscurity  began  to  emei-ge  into  the  light.  By  the  beauty 
of  its  moral  precepts,  by  the  systematic  skill  with  which  it 
governed  the  imagination  and  habits  of  its  worshij^pers,  by 
the  strong  religious  motives  to  which  it  could  appeal,  by  its 
admirable  ecclesiastical  organisation,  and,  it  must  be  added, 
by  its  unsparing  use  of  the  arm  of  power,  Chiistianity  soon 
eclipsed  or  destroyed  all  other  sects,  and  became  for  many 
centui'ies  the  supreme  ruler  of  the  moral  world.  Combining 
the  Stoical  doctrine  of  universal  brotherhood,  the  Greek  pre- 
dilection for  the  amiable  qualities,  and  the  Egyptian  spirit 
of  reverence  and  religious  avre,  it  acquired  from  the  fii'st  ail 
intensity  and  universality  of  influence  which  none  of  the  phi- 
losophies it  had  superseded  had  approached.  I  have  now  t") 
examine  the  moral  causes  that  governed  the  rise  of  this  reli- 
gion in  Rome,  the  ideal  of  virtue  it  presented,  the  degree  and 
manner  in  which  it  stamped  its  image  upon  the  character  of 
nations,  and  the  perversions  and  distortions  it  underwent. 


336  iiisTOKY  or  European  morals. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    CONVERSION   OF    ROME. 

TiiERE  is  no  fact  in  tlie  history  of  the  human  mind  more 
remarkable  than  the  complete  unconsciousness  of  the  import- 
ance and  the  dcbtinies  of  Christianity,  manifested  by  the 
Pagan  writers  before  the  accession  of  Constantine.  So  large 
an  amount  of  attention  has  been  bestowed  on  the  ten  or 
twelve  allusions  to  it  they  furnish,  that  we  are  sometimes  apt 
to  forget  how  few  and  meagre  those  allusions  are,  and  how 
utterly  impossible  it  is  to  construct  from  them,  with  nny 
degree  of  certainty,  a  history  of  the  early  Church.  Plutarch 
and  the  elder  Pliny,  who  probably  surpass  all  other  writers 
of  their  time  in  the  range  of  their  illustrations,  and  Seneca, 
who  was  certainly  the  most  illustrious  moralist  of  his  age, 
never  even  mention  it.  Epictetus  and  Marcus  Aurelius  have 
each  adverted  to  it  with  a  passing  and  contemptuous  censure, 
Tacitus  desci'ibes  in  detail  the  persecution  by  Nero,  but  treats 
the  suffering  religion  merely  as  '  an  execrable  superstition  ; ' 
while  Suetonius,  employing  the  same  expression,  reckons  the 
pei'secution  among  the  acts  of  the  tyrant  that  were  either 
uiudable  or  indifferent.  Our  most  important  document  is  the 
famoTis  letter  of  the  younger  Pliny.  Lucian  throws  some 
light  both  on  the  extent  of  Christian  charity,  and  on  the 
aspect  in  wliich  Christians  wei-e  regarded  by  the  religious 
jugglers  of  their  age,  and  the  long  series  of  Pp^gans  who  wrote 
the  lives  of  the  Emperors  in  that  most  critical  period  from 
the  accession  of  Hadrian,  almost  to  the  eve  of  the  triumph  of 


TnE    CONVEKSION    OF    EOME.  337 

tho.  Church,  rmong  a  crowd  of  details  conceming  the  drcyses, 
games,  vices,  and  follies  of  the  Court,  supply  us  with  six  or 
seven  short  notices  of  the  religion  that  was  transforming  the 
wodd. 

The  general  silence  of  the  Pagan  writers  on  this  subject 
di.l  not  arise  from  any  restrictions  imposed  upon  them  by 
authority,  for  in  this  field  the  widest  latitude  was  conceded, 
nor  yet  from  the  notions  of  the  dignity  of  history,  or  the  im- 
jortance  of  individual  exertions,  which  have  induced  some 
historians  to  resoJ  ve  their  task  into  a  catalogue  of  the  achieve- 
ments of  kings,  statesmen,  and  generals  The  conception  of 
history,  as  the  record  and  explanation  of  moral  revolutions, 
though  of  course  not  developed  to  the  same  prominence  as 
among  some  modern  writers,  was  by  no  means  unknown  in 
antiquity,'  and  in  many  branches  our  knowledge  of  the  social 
changes  of  the  Roman  Empire  is  extremely  copious.  The 
dissolution  of  old  beliefs,  the  decomposition  of  the  entire  social 
and  moral  system  that  had  arisen  under  the  Republic,  engaged 
in  the  very  highest  degree  the  attention  of  the  literary  classes, 
and  they  displayed  the  most  commendable  diligence  in  tracing 
its  stages.  It  is  very  cunous  and  instructive  to  contrast  the 
ample  information  they  have  furnished  us  conceming  the 
growth  of  Roman  luxury,  with  their  almost  absolute  silence 
concerning  the  growth  of  Christianity.  The  moral  import- 
ance of  the  former  movement  they  clearly  recognised,  and 
they  have  accordingly  pi-eserved  so  full  a  record  of  all  the 
changes  in  dress,  banquets,  buildings,  and  spectacles,  that  it 
would  be  possible  to  write  with  the  most  minute  detail  the 
whole  history  of  Roman  luxury,  from  the  day  when  a  censor 
deprived  an  elector  of  his  vote  because  his  garden  was  negli- 

'  We  have   a   remarkable    in-  opening    chapter   of    Capitolinns, 

stance  of  the  clearness  with  which  Life  of  Macrlmts.     Tacitus  is  full 

eonie    even  of  the  most  iusi^uifi-  of   beautiful   episodes,    describing 

tant  histoii.ms  recognised  the  folly  the    manners   and  religion  of  the 

)f   confining    history    to   the    bio-  people. 
jraphies  of  the  P^mperors,  in  the 


888  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

gently  cultivated,  to  the  orgies  of  Nero  or  HeliogaLal as. 
The  moral  importance  of  the  other  movement  they  altogethei' 
OTsrlooked,  and  their  oversight  leaves  a  chasm  in  hiF.loi^ 
wiiich  can  never  be  supplied. 

That  the  greatest  religious  change  in  the  history  of  man 
kind  should  Lave  taken  place  under  the  eyes  of  a  brilliani 
galaxy  of  philosophers  and  historians,  who  were  profoundly 
conscious  of  the  decomposition  around  them,  that  all  of  thesfl 
writers  should  have  utterly  failed  to  predict  the  issue  of  the 
movement  they  were  observing,  and  that,  daring  the  space 
of  three  centuries,  they  should  have  treated  as  simply  con- 
temptible an  agency  which  all  men  must  now  admit  to  have 
been,  for  good  or  for  evil,  the  most  powerful  moral  lever  that 
has  ever  been  applied  to  the  affairs  of  man,  are  facts  well 
worthy  of  meditation  in  every  period  of  religious  transition. 
The  explanation  is  to  be  found  in  that  broad  separation  be- 
tween the  spheres  of  morals  and  of  positive  religion  we  have 
considered  in  the  last  chapter.  In  modern  times,  men  who 
were  examining  the  probable  moral  future  of  the  woi-ld,  would 
naturally,  and  in  the  first  place,  direct  their  attention  to  the 
relative  positions  and  the  probable  destinies  of  religious  in- 
stitutions. In  the  Stoical  period  of  the  Roman  Empii-e, 
positive  religion  had  come  to  be  regarded  as  merely  an  art 
for  obtaining  preternatural  assistance  in  the  aifaii-s  of  life, 
and  the  moral  amelioration  of  mankind  was  deemed  alto- 
gether external  to  its  sphere.  Philosophy  had  become  to  the 
educated  most  literally  a  religion.  It  was  the  rule  of  life,  the 
exposition  of  the  Divine  nature,  the  source  of  devotional  feel- 
ing The  numeroas  Oriental  superstitions  that  had  deluged 
the  city  were  regarded  as  peculiarly  pernicious  and  contemp- 
tible, and  of  these  none  was  less  likely  to  attract  the  favour 
of  Wie  philosophers  than  that  of  the  Jews,'  who  were  noto 

»  The  passages  relating  to  the  poses  entre  Scneque  ct  St.  Paul 
Jews  in  Roman  literature  are  col-  Champagny,  Eome  ct  Jiidce,  tome  i 
lected  in  Aubertin's  Bapj^orts  stqj-     pp.  134-137. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  SSf) 

lions  as  the  most  bordid,  the  mo&t  turbulent,^  and  the  moHt 
unsocial  ^  of  the  Oriental  colonists.  Of  the  ignorance  of  their 
tenets,  displayed  even  by  the  most  eminent  Romans,  we  have 
a  striking  illiLstiation  in  the  long  series  of  grotesque  fables 
concerning  their  belief,  probably  derived  from  some  satirical 
pamphlet,  which  Tacitus  has  gravely  inserted  in  his  history.^ 
Christianity,  in  the  eyes  of  the  philosopher,  was  simply  a  sect 
of  Judaism. 

Although  I  am  anxious  in  the  present  work  to  avoid,  as 
for  as  po  sible,  all  questions  that  are  purely  theological,  and 
to  consider  Clmstianity  merely  in  its  aspect  as  a  moral  agent, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  bestow  a  few  preliminary  pages  upon 
its  triumph  in  the  Roman  Empire,  in  order  to  ascertain  how 
far  that  triumph  was  due  to  moral  causes,  and  what  were  its 
relations  to  the  prevailing  philoso^^hy.  There  are  some 
writers  who  have  been  so  struck  with  the  conformity  between 
some  of  the  doctrines  of  the  later  Stoics  and  those  of  Christi- 
anity that  they  have  imagined  that  Christianity  had  early 
obtained  a  decisive  influence  over  philosophy,  and  that  the 
leading  teachers  of  Rome  had  been  in  some  measure  its 
disciples.  There  are  others  who  reduce  the  conversion  of 
the  Roman  Empire  to  a  mere  question  of  evidences,  to  the 
overwhelming  proofs  the  Christian  teachers  produced  of  the 
authenticity  of  the  Gospel  naiTatives.  There  are  others, 
again,  who  deem  the  triumph  of  Christianity  simply  miracu- 
lous. Everything,  they  tell  us,  was  against  it.  The  course 
of  the  Church  was  like  that  of  a  ship  sailing  rapidly  and 
steadily  to  the  goal,  in  dii-ect  defiance  of  both  wind  and  tide, 
and  the  conversion  of  the  Empii-e  was  as  literally  super- 
natiu-al  as  the  raising  of  the  dead,  or  the  sudden  quelling  of 
the  storm. 

On  the  first  of  these  theories  it  will  not,   I   think,  b« 


'  CiccTo,  pro  Flacco,  28;  Sueton.  '  Juvenal,  Sat.  xiy 

Gfivdhts,  25.  »  Hist,  v 


340  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

necessary,  after  the  last  chapter,  to  expatiate  at  length.  It  la 
admitted  that  the  greatest  moralists  of  the  Roman  Empire 
either  never  mentioned  Christianity,  or  mentioned  it  with 
contempt ;  that  they  habitually  disregarded  the  many  re- 
ligions which  had  arisen  among  the  ignorant ;  and  that  we 
hare  no  direct  evidence  of  the  slightest  value  of  their  ever 
having  come  in  contact  with  or  favoured  the  Christians. 
The  supposition  that  they  were  influenced  by  Christianity 
rests  mainly  upon  their  enforcement  of  the  Christian  duty  of 
self-examination,  upon  their  strong  assertion  of  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  mankind,  and  upon  the  delicate  and  expansive 
humanity  they  at  last  evinced.  But  although  on  all  these 
points  the  later  Stoics  approximated  much  to  Christianity, 
we  have  already  seen  that  it  is  easy  to  discover  in  each  case 
the  cause  of  the  tendency.  The  duty  of  self-examination  was 
simply  a  Pythagorean  precept,  enforced  in  that  school  long 
before  the  rise  of  Christianity,  introduced  into  Stoicism  when 
Pythagoreanism  became  popular  in  Eome,  and  confessedly 
borrowed  from  this  source.  The  doctrine  of  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  mankind  was  the  manifest  expression  of  those 
political  and  social  changes  which  reduced  the  whole  civilised 
globe  to  one  great  empire,  threw  open  to  the  most  distant 
tribes  the  right  of  Roman  citizenship,  and  subverted  all 
those  class  divisions  around  which  moral  theories  had  been 
formed.  Cicero  asserted  it  as  emphatically  as  Seneca.  The 
theory  of  pantheism,  representing  the  entire  creation  as  one 
great  body,  pervaded  by  one  Divine  soul,  harmonised  with  it ; 
and  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  very  phraseology  concerning 
the  fellow-membership  of  all  things  in  God,  which  has  been 
most  confidently  adduced  by  some  modern  writers  as  proving 
the  connection  between  Seneca  and  Christianity,  was  selected 
by  Lactantius  as  the  clearest  illustration  of  the  pantheism  of 
Stoicism.^     The  humane  character  of  the  later  Stoical  teach- 


Lact.  Inst.  Div.  vii.  3. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  341 

uig  was  obviously  due  to  the  infusion  of  the  Greek  element 
into  Roman  life,  which  1>egan  before  the  foundation  of  the 
Empii^e,  and  received  a  now  impulse  in  the  reign  of  Hadrian, 
and  also  to  the  softening  influence  of  a  luxurious  civilisationy 
and  of  the  long  peace  of  the  Antonines.  While  far  inferior 
to  the  Greeks  in  practical  and  realised  humanity,  the  E.omana 
never  surpassed  their  masters  in  theoretical  humanity  except 
iu  one  respect.  The  humanity  of  the  Greeks,  though  very 
earnest,  was  confined  witliin  a  narrow  cii'cle.  The  social  and 
political  cii'cumstances  of  the  Koman  Empii-e  destroyed  the 
ba}'rier. 

The  only  case  in  which  any  plausible  arguments  have  been 
uyged  in  favour  of  the  notion  that  the  writings  of  the  Stoics 
were  influenced  by  the  New  Testament  is  that  of  Seneca. 
This  philosopher  was  regarded  by  all  the  mediaeval  writers 
as  a  Chi-istian,  on  the  ground  of  a  correspondence  with  St. 
Paul,  which  formed  part  of  a  forged  account  of  the  martyr- 
dom of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  attributed  to  St.  Linus. 
These  letters,  which  were  absolutely  unnoticed  during  the 
first  three  centuries,  and  are  first  mentioned  by  St.  Jerome, 
are  now  almost  universally  abandoned  as  forgeries ;  '  but 
many  ciu'ious  coincidences  of  phraseology  have  been  pointed 
out  between  the  writings  of  Seneca  and  the  epistles  of  St. 
Paul ;  and  the  presumption  derived  from  them  has  beea 
streng-thened  by  the  facts  that  the  brother  of  Seneca  was  that 
Gallio  who  refused  to  hear  the  disputes  between  St.  Paul  and 
the  Jews,  and  that  Burrhus,  who  was  the  friend  and  col- 
league of  Seneca,  was  the  officer  to  whose  custody  St.  Paul 
had  been  entrusted  at  Rome.     Into  the  minute  verbal  critic- 


^  See  their  history  fully  inves-  of  Seneca  as  a  Pagan,  as  TertuUian 

tigaled    in    Aubertin.      Augustine  {Apol.  50)  had  done  before.     The 

followed  JeromiMU  mentioning  the  imnjense   number  of  forged  docu- 

letters,  but  neitlu-r  of  these  writers  ments  is  one  of  the  most  disgraceful 

asserted  their   genuineness.     Lac-  features  of  the  Church   history  of 

lantius,   nearly  at  the  same  time  the  first  few  centuries. 
{Inst.  Div.  vi,  24),  diatiactly  spoke 


•342  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAL?. 

ism.  to  which  this  question  had  given  rise/  it  is  not  necessary 
for  me  to  enter.  It  has  ^^een  shown  that  much  of  what  was 
deemed  Christian  pkraseology  grew  out  of  the  pantheistic 
notion  of  one  gi-eat  body  inchiding,  and  one  Divine  mind 
animating  and  guiding,  all  existing  things ;  and  many  othei 
of  the  pretended  coincidences  are  so  slight  as  to  be  altogether 
'vs'orthless  as  an  argument.  Still  I  think  most  persons  who  re- 
view what  has  been  written  on  the  subject  will  conclude  that  it 
is  probable  some  fragments  at  least  of  Christian  language  had 
come  to  the  ears  of  Seneca.  But  to  suppose  that  his  system 
of  morals  is  in  any  degi'ee  formed  after  the  model  or  under 
the  influence  of  Christianity,  is  to  be  blind  to  the  most  ob- 
vious characteristics  of  both  Christianity  and  Stoicism ;  for 
no  other  moralist  could  be  so  aptly  selected  as  repi-esenting 
their  extreme  divergence.  Keverence  and  humility,  a  constant 
sense  of  the  supreme  majesty  of  God  and  of  the  weakness  and 
sinfulness  of  man,  and  a  perpetual  reference  to  another  woi-ld, 
were  the  essential  characteristics  of  Christianity,  the  source  of 
all  its  power,  the  basis  of  its  distinctive  type.  Of  all  these, 
the  teaching  of  Seneca  is  the  direct  antithesis.  Careless  of 
the  future  world,  and  profoundly  convinced  of  the  supreme 
majesty  of  man,  he  laboui'ed  to  emancipate  his  discij)les  'from 
every  fear  of  God  and  man  ; '  and  the  proud  language  in 
which  he  claimed  for  the  sage  an  equality  with  the  gods 
represents,  perhaps,  the  highest  point  to  which  philosophic 
arrogance  has  been  carried.  The  Jews,  wdth  whom  the 
Christians  were  then  universally  identified,  he  emphatically 
describes  as  *  an  acciu*sed  race.'*     One  man,  indeed,  there  was 


'  Fleury  has  written  an  elabo-  all  English  critics)  with  masterly 

rvte  work  maintaining  the  connoc-  skill    and     learning.       The    Abbe 

tiwn   between  the  apostle   and  the  Dourif  {Ropjx.rts  du   St<'icis7ne  et 

philosopher.      Troplong  {Influence  du  Christ ianisme)  has  placed  side 

dn  Christ  ianisme  sur  le  Droit)  lias  by   side    the   passages    from   each 

adopted  the  same  view.    Aubertin,  writer  which  are  mo.st  alike. 

in  the  work  I  have  already  cited,  ^  Quoted   by   St.  Augustine.— 

h;)s  maintained  the  opposite  view  De  Civ.  Dti,  vi.  11. 
(which   is   that   of  all   or  nearly 


THE  coNVbRsro::  07  RO^iE.  343 

tmong  the  later  Stoics  who  had  almost  realised  the  Christian 
type,  and  in  whose  pure  and  gentle  natiu-e  the  arrogance  of 
his  school  can  be  scarcely  traced ;  bnt  Marcus  Aurelius,  who  of 
all  the  Pagan  world,  if  we  argued  by  internal  evidence  alone, 
would  have  been  most  readily  identified  with  Christianity, 
v.'as  a  persecutor  of  the  faith,  and  he  has  left  on  record  in  his 
*  Meditations  '  his  contempt  for  the  Christian  martyrs.  ^ 

The  relation  between  the  Pagan  philosophers  and  the 
i  Christian  religion  w^as  a  subject  of  much  discussion  and  of 
profound  difference  of  opinion  in  the  early  Chui-ch.^  While 
the  writers  of  one  school  apologised  for  the  murder  of  Socrates, 
described  the  martyred  Greek  as  the  '  buffoon  of  Athens,'  ^ 
and  attributed  his  inspiration  to  diabolical  influence;^  wBile 
they  designated  the  wn^itings  of  the  philosophers  as  '  the 
schools  of  heretics,'  and  collected  with  a  malicious  assiduity 
all  the  calumnies  that  had  been  heaped  upon  their  memory — 
there  were  others  who  made  it  a  leading  object  to  establish  a 
close  affinity  between  Pagan  philosophy  and  the  Christian 
revelation.  Imbued  in  many  instances,  almost  from  child- 
hood, with  the  noble  teaching  of  Plato,  and  keenly  alive  to 
the  analogies  between  his  philosophy  and  their  new  faith, 
these  writers  found  the  exhibition  of  this  resemblance  at  once 
deeply  grateful  to  themselves  and  the  most  successful  way  of 
dispelliag  the  prejudices  of  their  Pagan  neighbours.  The 
success  that  had  attended  the  Christian  prophecies  attributed 
to  the  Sibyls  and  the  oracles,  the  passion  for  eclecticism, 
which  the  social  and  commercial  position  of  Alexandria 
had  generated,  and  also  the  example  of  the  Jew  Aristobulus, 
who    had    some    time    before    contended    that   the   Jewish 


'  xi.  3.  toire  cle  la  Philosopkie. 

'  The  history  of  the  two  schools  ^  '  Scurra  Atticiis.'  Min.  Felix, 

has    bei-n    elaborately    traced    by  Octav.      This    teim    is    said     by 

Ritter,  Pressense,  and  many  other  Cicero    to    hare    been    given    to 

■writers.     I  would  especially  refer  Socrates  by  Zeno.     (Cic.  De  Nat, 

5o    the    fourth     vohirae    of    De-  Deor.  i.  34.) 

gerando's   most    fascinating    His-  *  Tertull.  De  Anima,  39. 


344  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

writiugs  had  been  translated  into  Greek,  and  had  been  the 
source  of  much  of  the  Pagan  wisdom,  encouraged  them  in 
tiieir  course.  The  most  conciliatory,  and  at  the  same  time 
tlie  )nost  philosophical  school,  was  the  earliest  in  the  Church. 
Justin  Martyi'— the  first  of  the  Fathers  whose  writings  pos- 
sess any  general  philosophical  interest — cordially  recognises 
the  excellence  of  man^"  parts  of  the  Pagan  philosophy,  and 
even  attributes  it  to  a  Divine  inspiration,  to  the  action  of 
the  generative  or  '  seminal  Logos,'  which  fi-om  the  earliest 
times  had  existed  in  the  world,  had  inspired  teachers  like 
Socrates  and  Musonius,  who  had  been  persecuted  by  the 
daemons,  and  had  received  in  Christianity  its  final  and  peifect 
manifestation.'  The  same  generous  and  expansive  aj^precia 
tion  may  be  traced  in  the  writings  of  several  later  Fathers, 
although  the  school  was  speedily  disfigured  by  some  grotesque 
extravagances.  Clement  of  Alexandiia — a  writer  of  wide 
sympathies,  considerable  originality,  very  extensive  learning, 
but  of  a  feeble  and  fantastic  judgment — who  immediately 
succeeded  Justin  JMai-tyr,  attributed  all  the  wisdom  of  an- 
tiquity to  two  soui-ces.  The  first  som-ce  was  tradition ;  for 
the  angels,  who  liad  been  fascinated  by  the  antediluvian 
ladies,  had  endeavoiu-ed  to  ingi-atiate  themselves  with  their 
fair  companions  by  giving  them  an  abstract  of  the  meta- 
physical and  other  learning  which  was  then  current  in  heaven, 
and  the  substance  of  these  conversations,  being  transmitted 
by  tradition,  supplied  the  Pagan  philosophers  with  their 
leading  notions.  The  angels  did  not  know  ever}i;hing,  and 
therefore  the  Greek  philosophy  was  imperfect;  but  this  event 
formed  the  first  gi-eat  epoch  in  literary  history.  The  second 
and  most  important  source  of  Pagan  wisdom  was  the  Old 
Testament,^  the  influence  of  which  many  of  the  early  Chris- 
tians traced  in  every  department  of  ancient  wisdom.  Plato  Lad 


'  See  especially  his  Apol.  ii.  8,  ''■  See,  on   all  this,  Clsm.  Alex, 

12,13.  He  speaks  of  the  o-7r6p/iaTiK6s     Strom,  v.,  and  also  i   22. 
K6yos. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  345 

boii'ovved  from  it  all  his  i)liilosopliy,  Homer  the  noblest  con 
ce})tions  of  his  poetiy,  Demosthenes  the  finest  touches  of  hia 
eloquence.  Even  Miltiades  owed  his  military  skill  to  an 
assiduous  study  of  the  Pentateuch,  and  the  ambuscade  by 
which  he  won  the  battle  of  Marathon  was  imitated  from 
the  strategy  of  Moses.'  Pythagoras,  moreover,  had  been 
himnelf  a  circumcised  Jew,^  Plato  had  been  instructed  in 
Egy])t  by  the  prophet  Jeremiah.  The  god  Serapis  was  no 
other  than  the  patriarch  Joseph,  his  Egyptian  name  being 
manifestly  derived  from  his  great-grandmother  Sarah. ^ 

Absurdities  of  this  kind,  of  which  I  have  given  extreme 
but  by  no  means  the  only  examples,  were  usually  primarily 
intended  to  repel  arguments  against  Christianity,  and  they 
are  illustrations  of  the  tendency  which  has  always  existed  in 
an  imcritical  age  to  invent,  without  a  shadow  of  foundation, 
the  most  elaborate  theories  of  explanation  rather  than  recog- 
nise the  smallest  force  in  an  objection.  Thus,  when  the 
Pagans  attempted  to  reduce  Christianity  to  a  normal  product 
of  the  human  mind,  by  pointing  to  the  very  numerous  Pagan 
legends  which  were  precisely  2:>arallel  to  the  Jewish  histories, 


'  St.  Clement  repeats  this  twice  revelation  ;  delivered  in  1731.'     It 

(^Strom.  i.  24,  v.  14).    The  writings  is  in  the  8th  volume  of  Waterland's 

of  this  Father  are  full  of  curious,  works  (ed.  1731). 

and  sometimes  ingenious,  attempts  '^  St.  Clement  (Sfrom.  i.)  men- 

to  trace  different  phrases  of  the  tions  that  some  think  !iim  to  have 

great    philosophers,    orators,     and  been  Ezekiel,  an  opinion  wh;ch  St. 

poets  to  Moses.     A  vastamount  of  Clement   himself  doi^s    not    hold, 

learning  and  ingenuity    has    been  See,  on  tlie  pntristic  notions  about 

expended    in   the    same   cause    by  Pythagoras,    Legendre,    Traite   de 

Euse  ius.     [PrcBp.  Evan.  xii.  xiii.)  V Opinio7i,  tome  1.  p.  164. 

The  tradition  of  the  derivation  of  ^  This  was  the  opinion  of  Julius 

Pagan    philosophy    from    the    Old  Pirmicus  Maternus.  a  i  atin  writer 

Testament  found  in  general    little  of  the  nge  of  Constantine,    '  Nam 

favour    among   the   Latin  writers,  quia    Sarse    pronepos    fuerat  .   .  . 

There  is  some  curious  information  Serapis  dietus  est  Graeco  sermone, 

on    this    subject    in    Waterland's  hoc  est  Sapas  ^tto.' — Julius  Pirmi- 

'  Charge  to  the  Clergy  of  Middle-  cus    Maternus,    De    Errore     Pro- 

Bex,  to  prove  that  the  wisdom  of  fanarum  Ecligionum,  cap.  xiv. 
the  ancients   was  borrowed   from 

24 


346  HISTORY    OF    ELTROrEAN    MORALS. 

it  was  answered  that  the  daemons  were  careful  students  of 
pi-opheey,  that  they  foresaw  with  terror  the  advent  of  their 
Divine  Conqueror,  and  that,  in  order  to  prevent  men  believ- 
ing in  him,  they  had  invented,  by  anticipation,  a  series  of 
legends  resembling  the  events  which  were  foretold.^  More 
frequently,  however,  the  early  Christians  retorted  the  accusa- 
tions of  plagiarism,  and  by  forged  writings  attributed  to 
Pagan  authors,  or,  by  pointing  out  alleged  traces  of  Jewish 
inHuence  in  genuine  Pagan  writings,  they  endeavoured  to 
trace  through  the  past  the  footsteps  of  their  faith.  But  this 
method  of  assimilation,  which  culminated  in  the  Gnostics,  the 
Neoplatonists,  and  especially  in  Origen,  was  directed  not  to 
the  later  Stoics  of  the  Empire,  but  to  the  great  philosophers 
who  had  preceded  Christianity.  Tt  was  in  the  writings  of 
Plato,  not  in  those  of  Epictetus  or  Marcus  Aurelius,  that  the 
Fathers  of  the  first  three  centuries  found  the  influence  of  the 
Jewish  Scriptui-es,  and  at  the  time  when  the  passion  for 
discovering  these  connections  was  most  extravagant,  the 
notion  of  Seneca  and  his  followers  being  inspired  by  the 
Christians  was  unknown. 

Dismiss 'ng  then,  as  altogether  groundless,  the  notion  that 
Christianity  had  obtained  a  complete  or  even  a  partial  influ- 
ence over  the  philosophic  classes  during  the  period  of  Stoical 
ascendancy,  we  come  to  the  opinion  of  those  who  suppose 
that  the  Roman  Empire  was  converted  by  a  system  of  evi- 
dences— by  the  mii-aculous  proofs  of  the  divinity  of  Christia- 
nity, submitted  to  the  adjudication  of  the  people.  To  estimate 
this  view  aright,  we  have  to  consider  both  the  capacity  of 
the  men  of  that  age  forjudging  miracles,  and  also — which  ia 
a  diflerent  question — the  extent  to  which  such  evidence 
T  ould  weigh  upon  their  minds.     To  treat  this  subject  satis- 


'  Justin  Martvr,  Ajpol.  i.  54  ;  that  were  parallel  to  Jewish  iiiei* 
Trypho,  69-70.  There  is  a  very  dents,  in  La  Mothe  le  Vayer,  leU 
curious  collection  of  Pagan  legends     xciii. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  347 

factorily,  it  may  be  advisable  to  enter  at  some  little  length 
into  the  broad  question  of  the  evidence  of  the  miraculous. 

With  the  exception  of  a  small  minority  of  the  priests  of 
the  Catholic  Church,  a  general  incredulity  on  the  subject  of 
mira(;les  now  underlies  the  opinions  of  almost  all  educated 
men.  Nearly  every  one,  however  cordially  he  may  admit 
some  one  particular  class  of  miracles,  as  a  general  rule 
regards  the  accounts  of  6uch  events,  which  are  so  frequent  in 
all  old  liistorians,  as  false  and  incredible,  even  when  he  fully 
believes  the  natui-al  events  that  are  authenticated  by  the 
same  testimony.  The  reason  of  this  incredulity  is  not  alto- 
gether the  impossibility  or  even  extreme  natui-al  improba- 
bility of  miracles ;  for,  whatever  may  be  the  case  with  some, 
there  is  at  least  one  class  or  conception  of  them  which  is 
perfectly  free  from  logical  difficulty.  There  is  no  contradic- 
tion involved  in  the  belief  that  «pii-itual  beings,  of  power 
and  wisdom  immeasurably  transcending  our  own,  exist,  or 
that,  existing,  they  might,  by  the  normal  exercise  of  their 
powers,  perform  feats  as  far  surpassing  the  understanding 
of  the  most  gifted  of  mankind,  as  the  electric  telegraph  and 
the  prediction  of  an  eclipse  surpass  the  faculties  of  a  savage. 
Nor  does  the  incredulity  arise,  I  think,  as  is  commonly 
asserted,  fr(jm  the  want  of  that  amount  and  kind  of  evidence 
which  in  other  departments  is  deemed  sufficient.  Very  few 
of  the  minor  facts  of  history  are  authenticated  by  as  much 
evidence  as  the  Stigmata  of  St.  Francis,  or  the  mii-ac-e  of 
the  holy  thorn,  or  those  which  were  said  to  have  been 
wrought  at  the  tomb  of  the  Abbe  Paris.  We  believe,  with, 
tolerable  assurance,  a  crowd  of  historical  events  on  the  testi- 
mony of  one  or  two  Roman  historians;  but  when  Tacitus 
and  Suetonius  describe  how  Vesi>asian  restored  a  blind 
man  to  sight,  and  a  cripple  to  strength,'    their   deliberate 


'  Suet.  Vcsp.  7  ;  Tacit.  Hist.  iv.     between  tlie  two  historians  about 
81.     There  is  a  slight   difference     the    second    miracle.       Suetoniua 


348  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

assertions  do  not  even  beget  in  our  minds  a  suspicion  tliat 
the  narrative  may  possibly  be  true.  We  are  quite  certain 
that  mirecles  were  not  ordinary  occurrences  in  classical  or 
mediaeval  times,  but  nearly  all  the  contemporary  writers  from, 
whom  we  deiive  our  knowledge  of  those  periods  were  con- 
V  inced  that  they  were. 

If,  then,  I  have  correctly  interpreted  the  opinions  of 
ordinary  educated  people  on  this  subject,  it  appears  that  the 
common  attitude  towards  miracles  is  not  that  of  doubt,  of 
hesitation,  of  discontent  with,  the  existing  evidence,  but 
rather  of  absolute,  derisive,  and  even  unexamining  incre- 
dulity. Such  a  fact,  when  we  consider  that  the  antecedent 
possibility  of  at  least  some  miracles  is  usually  admitted,  and 
Ln  the  face  of  the  vast  mass  of  tradition  that  may  be  adduced 
in  their  favour,  appears  at  first  sight  a  striking  anomaly,  and 
the  more  so  because  it  can  be  shown  that  the  belief  in  mira- 
cles had  in  most  cases  not  been  reasoned  down,  but  had 
simply  faded  away. 

In  order  to  ascerta'n  the  process  by  which  this  state  of 
mind  has  been  attained,  we  may  take  an  example  in  a  sphere 
which  is  happily  removed  from  controversy.  Thei-e  are  very 
few  persons  with  whom  the  fictitious  character  of  fairy  tales 
has  not  ceased  to  be  a  question,  or  who  would  hesitate  to 
disbelieve  or  even  to  ridicule  any  anecdote  of  this  nature 
which  was  told  them,  without  the  very  smallest  examination 
of  its  evidence.  Yet,  if  we  ask  in  what  respect  the  existence 
of  ftiiiies  is  naturally  contradictory  or  absurd,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  answer  the  question.     A  faii-y  is  simply  a  being 


(i  ys  it  was  the  leg,  Tacitus  that  it  it  -was  only  a^'ter  much  persuasion 
vas  the  hand,  that  was  diseased,  he  was  induced  to  try  the  experi- 
The  god  Serapis  was  said  to  have  ment;  that  the  blind  man  was 
revealed  to  the  patients  that  they  well  known  in  Alexandria.,  where 
would  be  cured  by  the  emperor,  the  event  occurred,  and  that  eye- 
Tacitus  says  that  Vespasian  did  witnesses  who  had  no  motive  to 
not  believe  in  his  own  power;  that  lie  still  attestel  the  miracle. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  349 

possessing  a  moderate  share  of  human  intelligence,  with  little 
or  no  moral  faculty,  with  a  body  pellucid,  wiaged,  aDd 
volatile,  like  that  of  an  insect,  with  a  passion  for  dancing, 
and,  perhaps,  with  an  extraordinary  knowledge  of  the  pro- 
perties of  different  plants.  That  such  beings  should  exist,  oj 
that,  existing,  they  should  be  able  to  do  many  things  beyond 
human  power,  are  propositions  which  do  not  present  the 
smallest  difficulty.  For  many  centuries  their  existence  waa 
almost  universally  believed.  There  is  not  a  country,  not  a 
province,  scarcely  a  parish,  in  which  traditions  of  their 
appearance  were  not  long  preserved.  So  great  a  weight  of 
tradition,  so  many  independent  trains  of  evidence  attesting 
statements  perfectly  fiee  from  intrinsic  absurdity,  or  even 
improbability,  might  appear  sufficient,  if  not  to  establish  con- 
viction, at  least  to  supply  a  very  strong  primd  facie  case. 
and  ensui-e  a  patient  and  respectful  investigation  of  the 
subject. 

It  has  not  done  so,  and  the  reason  is  sufficiently  plain. 
The  question  of  the  credibility  of  fairy  tales  luas  not  been 
resolved  by  an  examination  of  evidence,  but  by  an  oljservatiou 
of  the  laws  of  historic  development.  Wherever  we  find  an 
ignorant  and  rustic  population,  the  belief  in  fairies  is  found 
to  exist,  and  circumstantial  accounts  of  their  apparitions  are 
circulated.  But  invariably  with  increased  education  this 
belief  passes  away.  It  is  not  that  the  fairy  tales  are  refuted 
or  explained  away,  or  even  naiTOwly  scrutinised.  It  is  that 
the  fairies  cease  to  appear.  From  the  uniformity  of  this 
decline,  we  infer  that  ftiiry  tales  are  the  normal  product  of 
a  certain  condition  of  the  imagination ;  and  tliis  position  is 
raised  to  a  moral  certainty  when  we  find  that  the  decadence 
of  fairy  tales  is  but  one  of  a  long  series  of  similar  transform- 
ations. 

When  the  savage  looks  around  upon  the  world  and  begir.a 
to  form  his  theories  of  existence,  he  frills  at  once  into  three 
gieat  enors,  which  become  the  first  principles  of  his  su])se- 


3^0  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

quent  opmions.  He  believes  that  this  earth  is  the  centre  of 
the  universe,  and  that  all  the  bodies  encircling  it  are  intended 
for  its  use ;  that  the  disturbances  and  dislocations  it  presents, 
and  especially  the  master  curse  of  death,  are  connected  with 
some  event  in  his  history,  and  also  that  the  numerous  phe- 
uouiena  and  natural  vicissitudes  he  sees  around  him  are  due 
to  dii'ect  and  isolated  volitions,  either  of  spirits  presiding 
over^  or  of  intelligences  inherent  in,  matter.  Around  these 
leading  conceptions  a  crowd  of  particular  legends  speedily 
cluster.  If  a  stone  falls  beside  him,  he  naturally  infers  that 
some  one  has  thrown  it.  If  it  be  an  aerolite,  it  is  attri- 
buted to  some  celestial  being.  Believing  that  each  comet, 
tempest,  or  pestilence  results  from  a  direct  and  isolated  act, 
he  proceeds  to  make  theories  regarding  the  motives  that 
have  induced  his  spiritual  persecutors  to  assail  him,  and  the 
methods  by  which  he  may  assuage  their  anger.  Finding 
numerous  distinct  trains  or  series  of  phenomena,  he  invents 
for  each  appropriate  presiding  spirits.  Miracles  are  to  h'm 
neither  strange  events  nor  violations  of  natural  law,  but 
simply  the  unveiling  or  manifestation  of  the  ordinary  govern- 
ment of  the  world. 

With  these  broad  intellectual  conceptions  several  minor 
influences  concur.  A  latent  fetichism,  which  is  betrayed  in 
that  love  of  direct  personification,  or  of  applying  epithets 
derived  from  sentient  beings  to  inanimate  nature,  which 
appeal's  so  largely  in  all  poetry  and  eloquence,  and  especially 
in  those  of  an  early  period  of  society,  is  the  root  of  a  great 
part  of  our  opinions.  If — to  employ  a  very  familiar  illus- 
tration— the  most  civilised  and  rational  of  mankind  will 
observe  his  own  emotions,  when  by  some  accident  he  has 
stiiick  liis  head  violently  against  a  door-post,  he  will  probably 
tind  that  his  first  exclamation  was  not  merely  of  pain  but  of 
anger,  and  of  anger  directed  against  the  wood.  In  a  moment 
reason  checks  the  emotion ;  but  if  he  observes  carefully  hia 
own  feelings,  he  may  easily  convince  himself  of  the  uncon 


THK    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  351 

scious  fetichism  which  is  latent  in  his  mind,  and  which,  in 
the  case  of  a  child  or  a  savage,  displays  itself  without 
reserve.  ]\Ian  instinctively  ascribes  volition  to  whatever 
powerfully  affects  him.  The  feebleness  of  his  imagination 
conspii-es  with  other  causes  to  prevent  an  uncivilised  man  from 
rising  above  the  conception  of  an  anthropomorphic  Deity, 
and  the  capricious  or  isolated  acts  of  such  a  being  form  hi?! 
exact  notion  of  miracles.  The  same  feebleness  of  imagination 
makes  him  clothe  all  intellectual  tendencies,  all  conflicting 
emotions,  all  forces,  passions,  or  fancies,  in  material  forms. 
His  mind  naturally  translates  the  conflict  between  opposing 
feelings  into  a  history  of  the  combat  between  rival  spirits. 
A  vast  accumulation  of  myths  is  spontaneously  formed — each 
legend  being  merely  the  material  expression  of  a  moral  fact. 
The  simple  love  of  the  wonderful,  and  the  complete  absence 
of  all  critical  spirit,  aid  the  formation. 

In  this  manner  we  find  that  in  certain  stages  of  society^ 
and  under  the  action  of  the  influences  I  have  stated,  an  ac- 
cretion of  miraculous  legends  is  naturally  formed  around 
prominent  personages  or  institutions.  We  look  for  them  as 
we  look  for  showers  in  April,  or  for  harvest  in  autumn.  We 
can  very  rarely  show  with  any  confidence  the  precise  manner 
in  which  a  particular  legend  is  created  or  the  nucleus  of 
truth  it  contains,  but  we  can  analyse  the  general  causes 
that  have  impelled  men  towards  the  miraculous  ;  we  can 
show  that  these  causes  have  never  failed  to  produce  the 
effect,  and  we  can  trace  the  gi^adual  alteration  of  mental 
conditions  invariably  accompanying  the  decline  of  the  belief. 
When  men  are  destitute  of  critical  spirit,  when  the  notion  of 
uniform  law  is  yet  unborn,  and  when  theii-  imaginations  are 
still  incapable  of  rising  to  abstract  ideas,  histories  of  mii-aclca 
are  always  formed  and  always  believed,  and  Lhey  continue  to 
flourish  and  to  multiply  until  these  conditions  have  altered. 
Miracles  cease  when  men  cease  to  believe  and  to  expect  them. 
In    periods   that   are  equally    credulous,    they    multiply  or 


352  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

diminish  in  proportion  to  tbe  intensity  with  which  the  iniJigi^ 
nation  is  directed  to  theological  topics.  A  comparison  of  the 
histories  of  the  most  different  nations  shows  the  mythical 
period  to  have  been  common  to  all ;  and  we  may  trace  in 
many  quarters  substantially  the  same  miracles,  though  varied 
by  national  characteristics,  and  with  a  certain  local  cast  and 
colouring.  As  among  the  Alps  the  same  shower  falls  as  raiii 
in  the  sunny  valleys,  and  as  snow  among  the  lofty  peaks,  so 
the  same  intellectual  conceptions  which  in  one  moral  latitude 
take  the  form  of  nymphs,  or  fairies,  or  sportive  legends,  ap- 
pear in  another  as  daemons  or  appalling  apparitions.  Some- 
times we  can  discover  the  precise  natural  fact  which  the 
superstition  had  misread.  Thus,  epilepsy,  the  phenomenon 
of  nightmare,  and  that  form  of  madness  which  leads  men 
i.o  imagine  themselves  transformed  into  some  animal,  are, 
«loubtless,  the  explanation  of  many  tales  of  demoniacal  posses- 
sion, of  incubi,  and  of  lycanthropy.  In  other  cases  we  may 
detect  a  single  error,  such  as  the  notion  that  the  sky  is  close 
to  the  earth,  or  that  the  sun  revolves  around  the  globe ,  which 
bad  suggested  the  legend.  Eut  more  frequently  we  can  give 
only  a  general  explanation,  enabling  us  to  assign  these  legends 
to  their  place,  as  the  normal  expression  of  a  certain  stage  of 
knowledge  or  intellectual  power;  and  this  explanation  is 
their  refutation.  We  do  not  say  that  they  are  impossible,  or 
even  that  they  are  not  authenticated  by  as  much  evidence  as 
many  facts  we  believe.  We  only  say  that,  in  certain  condi- 
tions of  society,  ilhisions  of  the  kind  inevitably  appear.  No 
one  can  prove  that  there  are  no  such  things  as  ghosts ;  but  if 
a  man  whose  brain  is  reeling  with  fever  declares  that  he  has 
Been  one,  wo  have  no  great  difficulty  in  forming  an  opinion 
about  his  assertion. 

The  gradual  decadence  of  mh'aculous  narratives  which 
accompanies  ad\^ancing  civilisation  may  be  chielly  traced  to 
three  causes.  The  first  is  that  general  accuracy  of  obsei'vation 
and  of  statement  which  all  education  tends  moie  or  less  to 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  353 

produce,  which  checks  the  amplifications  of  the  undisciplined 
imagination,  and  is  speedily  followed  by  a  much  stronger 
moral  feeling  on  the  subject  of  truth  than  ever  exists  in  a 
rude  civilisation.  The  second  is  an  increased  power  of  ab- 
iUraction,  which  is  likewise  a  result  of  geneial  education,  and 
which,  by  coi-recting  the  early  habit  of  personifying  all  pheno- 
mena, destroys  one  of  the  most  prolific  sources  of  legendsj 
and  closes  the  mythical  period  of  history.  The  third  is  the 
l)rogress  of  physical  science,  which  gradually  dispels  that  con- 
ception of  a  universe  governed  by  perpetual  and  arbitrary 
interference,  from  which,  for  the  most  part,  these  legends 
originally  sprang.  The  whole  history  of  physical  science  is 
one  continued  revoiation  of  the  reign  of  law.  The  same  law 
that  governs  the  motions  of  a  grain  of  dust,  or  the  light  of  the 
glowworm's  lamp,  is  shown  to  pi-eside  over  the  march  of  the 
most  majestic  planet  or  the  fire  of  the  most  distant  sun.  Count- 
less phenomena,  which  were  for  centuries  universally  believed 
to  be  the  results  of  spiritual  agency,  portents  of  calamity,  or 
acts  of  Divine  vengeance,  have  been  one  by  one  explained,  have 
been  shown  to  rise  from  blind  physical  causes,  to  be  capable  of 
prediction,  or  amenable  to  human  remedies.  Forms  of 
madness  which  were  for  ages  supposed  to  result  from  posses- 
sion, are  treated  successfully  in  our  hospitals.  The  advent  of 
the  comet  is  predicted.  The  wire  invented  by  the  sceptic 
Franklin  defends  the  crosses  on  our  churches  from  the  light- 
ning stroke  of  heaven.  Whether  we  examine  the  course  of 
the  planets  or  the  world  of  the  animalculse ;  to  whatever  field 
of  physical  nature  our  research  is  turned,  the  uniform, 
invariable  result  of  scientific  enquiry  is  to  show  that  even  the 
most  apparently  irregular  and  surprising  phenomena  are 
governed  by  natural  antecedents,  and  are  parts  of  one  great 
connected  system.  From  this  vast  concurrence  of  evidence, 
from  this  luiiformity  of  experience  in  so  many  spheres,  there 
arises  in  tl  e  minds  of  scientific  men  a  conviction,  amounting 
to  absolute  moral  certainty,  that  the  whole  course  of  physical 


354  HISTORY    OF    EUliOPEAN    MORALS. 

nature  is  governed  by  law,  that  the  notion  of  the  perpetual 
interference  of  the  Deity  with  some  pai-ticnlar  classes  of  ita 
phenomena  is  false  and  unscientific,  and  that  the  theological 
h».l(it  of  interpreting  the  catastrophes  of  nature  as  Divin'3 
warnings  or  punishments,  or  disciplines,  is  a  baseless  and  a 
pernicious  superstition. 

Tlie  effects  of  these  discoveries  upon  mii*aculous  legends  are 
of  various  kinds.  In  the  first  place,  a  vast  number  which 
have  clustered  around  the  notion  of  the  irregularity  of  some 
phenomenon  which  is  proved  to  be  regular — such  as  the 
innumerable  accounts  collected  by  the  ancients  to  corroborate 
their  opiuion  of  the  portentous  nature  of  comets — are  directly 
overthrown.  In  the  next  place,  the  revelation  of  the  inter- 
dependence of  phenomena  greatly  increases  the  improbability 
of  some  legends  which  it  does  not  actually  disprove.  Thus, 
when  men  believed  the  sun  to  be  simply  a  lamp  revolving 
around  and  lighting  our  world,  they  had  no  great  difiiculty 
in  believing  that  it  was  one  day  literally  arrested  in  its 
course,  to  illuminate  an  army  which  was  engaged  in  mas- 
sacring its  enemies ;  but  the  case  became  different  when  it 
was  perceived  that  the  sun  was  the  centre  of  a  vast  system 
of  worlds,  which  a  suspension  of  the  earth's  motion  must  have 
reduced  to  chaos,  without  a  miracle  extending  through  it  all. 
Thus,  again,  the  old  belief  that  some  animals  became  for  the 
first  time  carnivorous  in  consequence  of  the  sin  of  Adam,  ap- 
peared tolei-ably  simple  so  long  as  this  revolution  was  sup- 
posed to  be  only  a  change  of  habits  or  of  tastes ;  but  it 
became  more  difficult  of  belief  when  it  was  shown  to  involve 
a  change  of  teeth ;  and  the  difficulty  was,  I  suppose,  still 
farther  aggravated  when  it  was  proved  that,  every  animal 
luving  digestive  organs  specially  adapted  to  its  food,  these 
also  must  have  been  changed. 

]n  the  last  place,  physical  science  exercises  a  still  wider 
influence  by  destroying  what  I  have  called  the  centre  ideas 
out  of  which  coimtless  particular  theories  were  evoU^ed,  of 


THE    CONVEIISIO:^    OF    KOME.  1^55 

whicli  they  were  the  natural  expression,  and  upon  which 
their  permanence  depends.  Proving  that  our  workl  is  not 
the  centre  of  the  universe,  but  is  a  simple  planet,  revolving 
with  many  others  around  a  common  sun  ;  proving  that  the 
disturbances  and  sufferings  of  the  world  do  not  result  from 
an  event  which  occiu-red  but  0,000  yeai-s  ago;  that  long 
before  that  period  the  earth  was  dislocated  by  the  most 
fearful  convulsions ;  that  countless  generations  of  sentient 
animals,  and  also,  as  recent  discoveries  appear  conclusively 
to  show,  of  men,  not  only  lived  but  died  ;  proving,  by  an 
immense  accumulation  of  evidence,  that  the  notion  of  a 
universe  governed  by  isolated  acts  of  special  intervention  is 
untrue — physical  science  had  given  new  dii-ections  to  the 
currents  of  the  imagination,  suppled  the  judgment  with  new 
measures  of  probability,  and  thus  affected  the  whole  circle  of 
our  beliefs. 

With  most  men,  however,  the  transition  is  as  yet  but 
imperfectly  accomp'ished,  and  that  part  of  physical  nature 
which  science  has  hitherto  failed  to  explain  is  regarded  as  a 
sphere  of  special  interposition.  Thus,  multitudes  who  recog- 
nise the  fact  that  the  celestial  phenomena  are  subject  to 
inflexible  law,  imagine  that  the  dispensation  of  rain  is  in 
some  sense  the  i-esult  of  arbitrary  inteiiDositions,  determined 
by  the  conduct  of  mankind.  Near  the  equator,  it  is  true,  it 
is  tolerably  constant  and  capable  of  prediction  ;  but  in  pi-opor- 
tion  as  we  recede  from  the  equator,  the  rainfall  becomes  more 
variable,  and  consequently,  in  the  eyes  of  some,  superna- 
tural, and  although  no  scientific  man  has  the  faintest  doubt 
that  it  is  governed  by  laws  as  ioflexible  as  those  which  deter- 
mine the  motions  of  the  planets,  yet  because,  owing  to  the  great 
complexity  of  the  determining  causes,  we  are  imable  fully  to 
explain  them,  it  is  still  customary  to  speak  of  '  plagues  of 
rain  and  water '  sent  on  account  of  our  sins,  and  of  *  scarcity 
and  dearth,  which  we  most  justly  suffer  for  our  iniquity.' 
Corresponding   language   is    employed   about   the   forms   of 


356  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEANS    MORALS. 

disease  and  death  which  science  has  but  impeifeclly  ex- 
plained. If  men  are  employed  in  some  profession  which 
compels  them  to  inha-e  steel  filings  or  noxious  vapours,  or  ii 
they  live  in  a  pestilential  mai-sh,  the  diseases  that  result 
from  these  conditions  are  not  regarded  as  a  judgment  oi  a 
discipline,  for  the  natui-al  cause  is  obvious  and  decisive.  iJut 
if  the  conditions  that  produced  the  disease  are  very  subtle 
and  very  complicated ;  if  physicians  are  incapable  of  tracing 
with  certainty  its  nature  or  its  effects ;  if,  above  all,  it 
assumes  the  character  of  an  epidemic,  it  is  continually  treated 
as  a  Divine  judgment.  The  presumption  against  this  view 
aidses  not  only  from  the  fact  that,  in  exact  propoi-tion  aa 
medical  science  advances,  diseases  are  proved  to  be  the  neces- 
sary consequence  of  physical  conditions,  but  also  from  many 
characteristics  of  unexplained  disease  which  unequivocally 
prove  it  to  be  natural.  Thus,  cholera,  which  is  frequently 
hreated  according  to  the  theological  method,  varies  with  the 
conditions  of  temperature,  is  engendered  by  particular  forms 
of  diet,  follows  the  course  of  rivers,  yields  in  some  measure  to 
medical  treatment,  can  be  aggravated  or  mitigated  by  courses 
of  conduct  that  have  no  relation  to  vice  or  virtue,  takes  its 
victims  indiscriminately  from  all  grades  of  morals  or  opinion. 
Usually,  when  definite  causes  are  assigned  for  a  supposed 
judgment,  they  lead  to  consequences  of  the  most  grotesque 
absurdity.  Thus,  when  a  deadly  and  mysterious  disease  fell 
upon  the  cattle  of  England,  some  divines,  not  content  with 
treating  it  as  a  judgment,  proceeded  to  trace  it  to  certain 
popular  writings  containing  what  were  deemed  heterodox 
opinions  about  the  Pentateuch,  or  about  the  eternity  of  pun- 
ishment. It  may  be  ti-ue  that  the  disease  was  imported  fiom 
a  country  where  such  speculations  are  unknown ;  that  the 
authors  objected  to  had  no  cattle;  that  the  farmen^,  who 
chiefly  suffered  by  the  disease,  were  for  the  most  part  abso 
lately  imconscious  of  the  existence  of  these  books,  and  if  they 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    EOME.  35 1 

kjiew  fcliem  would  have  indignantly  repudiated  them ;  that  the 
town  populations,  who  chiefly  read  them,  were  only  afiected 
indirectly  by  a  rise  in  the  price  of  food,  which  falls  with 
perfect  impartiality  upon  the  orthodox  and  upon  the  heterodox ; 
that  pai-ticular  coimties  were  peculiarly  sufferers,  without 
being  at  all  conspicuous  for  their  scepticism ;  that  similar 
v\Titings  appeared  in  former  periods,  without  cattle  being  in 
Any  respect  the  worse ;  and  that,  at  the  very  period  at  which 
the  plague  was  raging,  other  countries,  in  which  far  more 
audacious  speculations  were  rife,  enjoyed  an  absolute  immu- 
nity. In  the  face  of  all  these  consequences,  the  theory  has 
been  confidently  urged  and  warmly  applauded. 

It  is  not,  I  think,  sufficiently  observed  how  large  a  pro- 
portion of  such  questions  aie  capable  of  a  stiictly  inductive 
method  of  discussion.  If  it  is  said  that  plagues  or  pestilences 
are  sent  as  a  punishment  of  error  or  of  vice,  the  assertion 
must  be  tested  by  a  comprehensive  examination  of  the  history 
of  plagues  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  periods  of  gi-eat  vice  and 
heterodoxy  on  the  other.  If  it  be  said  that  an  influence  more 
powerful  than  any  military  agency  directs  the  course  of 
battles,  the  action  of  this  force  mast  be  detected  as  we  would 
detect  electricity,  or  any  other  force,  by  experiment.  If  the 
attribute  of  infallibility  be  ascribed  to  a  particular  Church,  an 
inductive  reasoner  will  not  be  content  with  enquiring  how 
fkr  in  infallible  Church  would  be  a  desirable  thing,  or  how 
far  certain  ancient  words  may  be  construed  as  a  prediction  of 
its  appearance ;  he  will  examine,  by  a  wide  and  careful 
survey  of  ecclesiastical  history,  whether  this  Chiu-ch  has 
actually  been  immutable  and  consistent  in  its  teaching, 
w  hether  it  has  never  been  aflfected  by  the  ignoi-ance  or  the 
passion  of  the  age  ;  whether  its  influence  has  uniformly  been 
exerted  on  the  side  which  proved  to  be  true ;  whether  it  has 
never  supported  by  its  authority  scientific  views  which  were 
afteiwards    demonstrated  to  be  false,   or  countenanced   and 


358  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

consolidated  popular  errors,  or  thrown  obstacles  in  tlie  path 
of  those  who  were  afterwards  recognised  as  the  enlightenera 
of  mankind.  If  ecclesiastical  deliberations  are  said  to  be 
epecially  inspired  or  du^ected  by  an  illuminatmg  and  su[)Oi^ 
natural  power,  we  should  examine  whether  the  councils  and 
convocations  of  clergymen  exhibit  a  degree  and  harm(»ny  of 
wisdom  that  cannot  reasonably  be  accounted  for  ])j  the  play 
of  our  unassisted  faculties.  If  institutions  are  said  to  owe 
their  growth  to  special  supernatural  agencies,  distinct  from 
the  ordinary  system  of  natural  laws,  we  must  examine 
whether  their  courses  are  so  striking  and  so  peculiar  that 
natural  laws  fail  to  explain  them.  Whenever,  as  in  the  case 
of  a  battle,  very  many  influences  conciu*  to  the  result,  it  will 
frequently  happen  that  that  result  will  baffle  oiu'  predictions. 
It  will  also  happen  that  strange  coincidences,  such  as  the 
frequent  recurrence  of  the  same  number  in  a  game  of  chance, 
will  occur.  But  there  are  limits  to  these  variations  from 
what  we  regard  as  probable.  If,  in  thi-owing  the  dice,  we 
uniformly  attained  the  same  number,  or  if  in  war  the  army 
which  was  most  destitute  of  all  militaiy  advantages  was  uni- 
formly victorious,  we  should  readily  infer  that  some  special 
cause  was  operating  to  produce  the  result.  We  must  remem- 
ber, too,  that  in  every  great  historical  crisis  the  prevalence 
of  either  side  will  bring  witli  it  a  long  train  of  consequences, 
and  that  we  only  see  one  side  of  the  p'cture.  If  Hannibal, 
after  his  victory  at  Ca,nn8e,  had  captured  and  biu^nt  Rome, 
the  vast  series  of  results  that  have  followed  from  the  ascen- 
dancy of  the  Roman  Empire  would  never  have  taken  place, 
but  the  supremacy  of  a  maritime,  commercial,  and  compara- 
tively pacific  power  would  have  produced  an  entirely  different 
series,  which  would  have  formed  the  basis  and  been  tho 
essential  condition  of  all  the  subsequent  progress ;  a  civiUsa- 
tion,  the  type  and  character  of  which  it  is  now  impossible  to 
conjecture,  w^ould  have  arisen,  and  its  theologians  would 
probably   have    regarded    the    career   of    Hannibal   as   on« 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  359 

of  thn  most  manifest  instances  of  special  interposition  on 
record. 

If  we  would  form  sound  opinions  on  these  matters,  we 
must  take  a  very  wide  and  impartial  survey  of  the  phenomena 
of  history.  We  must  examine  whether  events  have  tended 
in  a  given  dii-ection  with  a  uniformity  or  a.  persistence  that 
is  not  naturally  explicable.  We  must  examine  not  only  the 
facts  that  corroborate  our  theory,  but  also  those  which  op- 
pose it. 

That  such  a  method  is  not  ordinarily  adopted  must  be 
manifest  to  all.  As  Bacon  said,  men  '  mark  the  hits,  but 
not  the  misses ; '  they  collect  industriously  the  examples  in 
which  many,  and  sometimes  improbable,  cii-cumstances  have 
converged  to  a  result  which  they  consider  good,  and  they 
simply  leave  out  of  their  consideration  the  circumstances  that 
tend  in  the  opposite  direction.  They  expatiate  with  triumph 
upon  the  careers  of  emperors  who  have  been  the  unconscious 
pioneers  or  agents  in  some  great  movement  of  human  pro- 
gress, but  they  do  not  dwell  uj^on  those  whose  genius  was 
expended  in  a  hopeless  resistance,  or  upon  those  who,  like 
Bajazet  or  Tamerlane,  having  inflicted  incalculable  evils 
upon  mankind,  passed  away,  leaving  no  enduring  friut  be- 
hind them.  A  hundred  missionaries  start  upon  an  enter- 
prise, the  success  of  which  appears  exceedingly  improbable, 
i^rinety-nine  perish  and  are  forgotten.  One  missionary  suc- 
ceeds, and  his  success  is  attributed  to  supernatural  interference, 
because  the  probabilities  were  so  greatly  against  him.  Tt  is 
observed  that  a  long  train  of  political  or  military  events  en- 
sured the  triumph  of  Protestantism  in  certain  nations  and 
periods.  It  is  forgotten  that  another  train  of  events  desti  oyed 
the  same  faith  in  other  lands,  and  paralysed  the  efforts  of  its 
noblest  martyrs.  We  are  told  of  showers  of  rain  tlmt 
followed  public  prayer  ;  but  we  are  not  told  how  often 
prayars  for  rain  proved  abortive,  or  how  much  longer  than 
usual  the  dry  weather  had  already  continued  when  they  were 


360 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


offered.'  As  the  old  philosopher  observed,  the  votive  tablets 
of  those  who  escaped  are  suspended  in  the  temple,  while  those 
who  were  shipwrecked  are  forgotten. 

Uiifortiinately,  these  inconsistencies  do  not  arise  simply 
fiom  intellectual  causes.  A  feeling  which  was  intended  to 
be  religious,  but  which  ^vas  in  truth  deeply  the  reverse,  once 
led  men  to  shrink  from  examining  the  causes  of  some  of  the 
more  terrible  of  physical  phenomena,  because  it  was  thought 
tliat  those  should  be  deemed  special  instances  of  Divine  inter- 
ference, and  should,  therefore,  be  regarded  as  too  sacred  for 
investigation. 2  In  the  world  of  physical  science  this  mode 
of  thought  has  almost  vanished,  but  a  corresponding  sentiment 
may  be  often  detected  in  the  common  judgments  of  history. 
Veiy  many  well-meaning  men — censuiing  the  pursuit  of 
truth  in  the  name  of  the  God  of  Truth — while  they  regard 
it  as  commendable  and  religious  to  collect  facts  illustrating 


'  The  fullowiug  is  a  good  speci- 
men of  the  huiguage  which  may 
still  be  uttered,  apparently  with- 
out exciting  any  protest,  from  the 
pulpit  in  one  of  the  great  centres 
of  English  learning:  'But  we 
have  prayed,  and  not  been  heard, 
at  least  in  this  present  visitation. 
Have  v>'e  deserved  to  be  lieard? 
In  former  visirations  it  was  ob- 
served commonly  how  the  cholera 
lessened  from  the  day  of  the  public 
liumiliation.  When  we  dreaded 
famine  from  long  -  continued 
drought,  on  the  morning  of  our 
prayers  the  heaven  over  our  head 
was  of  brass;  the  clear  burning 
sky  showed  no  token  of  change. 
iVIen  looked  with  awe  at  its  un- 
mitigated clearness.  In  the  even- 
ing was  the  cloud  like  a  man's 
hand;  the  relief  was  come.'  (And 
then  the  author  adds,  in  a  note) : 
'This  describes  what  I  myself 
saw   on    the   Sunday    morning    in 


Oxford,  on  returning  from  the 
early  communion  at  St.  Mary's  at 
eight.  There  was  no  visible  change 
till  the  evening.' — Pusey's  Miracles 
of  Prayer,  preached  at  Oxford, 
1866. 

^  E.g.:  'A  master  of  philosophy, 
travelling  with  others  on  the  way, 
when  a  fearful  thunderstorm  arose, 
checked  the  fear  of  his  fellows,  and 
discoursed  to  them  of  the  natural 
reasons  of  that  uproar  in  the  clouds, 
and  those  sudden  flishes  where- 
wiih  they  seemed  (out  of  the  ig- 
norance of  causes)  to  be  too  muc;h 
affrighted :  in  the  midst  of  hig 
philosophical  discourse  he  was 
struck  tlead  with  the  dreadful 
eruption  which  he  slighted.  What 
could  this  be  but  the  finsfer  of  that 
God  who  will  have  his  works 
rather  entertained  with  wonder  and 
trembling  than  with  curious  scan- 
ning ?  ' — Bishop  Hall,  The  Inm^ 
sible  V/orld,  %  vi. 


THE    CONVERSION    01?    ROME.  361 

dr  corroborating  the  theological  theory  of  life,  consiclcr  it 
irreverent  and  wrong  to  apply  to  those  facts,  and  to  that 
theory,  the  ordinary  severity  of  inductive  reasoning. 

What  I  have  written  is  not  in  any  degree  inconsistent 
with  the  belief  that,  by  the  dispensation  of  Providence,  moral 
c.iuses  have  a  natural  and  often  overwhelming  influence  upon 
ba])piness  and  upon  success,  nor  yet  with  the  Ijelief  that  our 
moral  nature  enters  into  a  very  real,  constant,  and  immediate 
contact  with  a  higher  power.  Nor  does  it  at  all  disprove  the 
possibility  of  Divine  inteifeience  with  the  order  even  of 
physical  nature.  A  world  governed  by  special  acts  of  inter- 
vention, such  as  that  which  mediaeval  theologians  imagined, 
is  perfectly  conceivable,  though  it  is  probable  that  most  im- 
partial enquirers  will  convince  themselves  that  this  is  not  the 
system  of  the  planet  we  inhabit ;  and  if  any  instance  of  such 
interferen'.^e  be  sufficiently  attested,  it  should  not  be  rejected 
as  intrinsically  impossible.  It  is,  however,  the  fundamental 
error  of  most  writers  on  miracles,  that  they  confine  their 
attention  to  two  points — the  possibility  of  the  fact,  and  che 
nature  of  the  evidence.  There  is  a  tliird  element,  which  in 
these  questions  is  of  capital  importance  :  the  predisposition 
of  men  in  certain  stages  of  society  towards  the  miraculous, 
which  is  so  strong  that  mira,culous  stories  are  then  invariably 
circulated  and  credited,  and  which  makes  an  amount  of 
evidence  that  would  be  quite  sufficient  to  establish  a  natural 
fact,  altogether  inadequate  to  establish  a  supernatural  one. 
The  positions  for  w^hich  I  have  been  contending  are  that  a 
perpetual  interference  of  the  Deity  with  the  natural  course 
of  events  is  the  earliest  and  simplest  notion  of  miracles,  and 
that  tliis  notion,  which  is  implied  in  so  many  systems  of  be- 
lief, arose  in  pai-t  from  an  ignoi-ance  of  the  laws  of  natiu-e, 
and  in  part  also  from  an  incapacity  for  inductive  reasoning, 
which  led  men  merely  to  collect  facts  coinciding  with  their 
preconceived  opinions,  without  attending  to  those  that  were 
inconsistent  with  them.  By  this  method  there  is  no  suj>ei^ 
25 


36i!  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

stition  that  could  not  be  defended.  Volumes  have  been 
written  giving  perfectly  authentic  histories  of  wars,  famines, 
and  pestilences  that  followed  the  appearance  of  comets.  There 
is  not  an  omen,  not  a  prognostic,  however  cliildish,  that  has 
n3t,  LQ  the  infinite  variety  of  events,  been  occasionally  veii 
ficd.  and  to  minds  that  are  under  the  influence  of  a  super 
stitious  imagination  these  occasional  verifications  move  than 
outweigh  al]  the  instances  of  error.  Simple  knowledge  is 
wholly  insufficient  to  correct  the  disease.  Ko  one  is  so  firmly 
convinced  of  the  reality  of  lucky  and  unlucky  days,  and  of 
supernatuial  portents,  as  the  sailor,  who  has  spent  his  life  ir 
watching  the  deep,  and  has  learnt  to  read  with  almost  un- 
erring skill  the  promise  of  the  clouds.  No  one  is  more  per- 
suaded of  the  superstitions  about  fortune  than  the  habitual 
gambler.  Sooner  than  abandon  his  theory,  there  is  no  ex- 
travagance of  hypothasis  to  which  the  superstitious  man  will 
not  resort.  The  ancients  were  convinced  that  dreams  were 
usually  supernatural.  If  the  dream  was  veiified,  this  was 
plainly  a  prophecy.  If  the  event  was  the  exact  opposite  of 
what  the  ch'eam  foreshadowed,  the  latter  was  still  supernatural, 
for  it  was  a  recognised  principle  that  dreams  should  some- 
times be  interpreted  by  contraries.  If  the  dream  bore  no 
relation  to  subse(iuent  events,  unless  it  were  transformed 
into  a  fantastic  allegory,  it  was  still  supernatural,  for  allegory 
was  one  of  the  most  ordinary  forms  of  revelation.  If  no  in- 
genuity of  interpretation  could  find  a  prophetic  meaning  iu 
a  dream,  its  supernatural  character  was  even  then  not  neces- 
parily  destroyed  ;  for  Homer  said  there  was  a  special  portal 
through  wiiich  deceptive  visions  passed  into  the  mind,  and 
the  Fathers  declared  that  it  was  one  of  the  occupations  of 
the  daemoiLs  to  perplex  and  bewilder  us  with  unmeaning 
di  iams. 

To  estimate  aright  the  force  of  the  predisposition  to  the 
niraculous  should  be  one  of  the  first  tasks  of  the  enquirer  into 
its  reality ;  and  no  one,  I  think,  can  examine  the  subject  with 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  3{>3 

impartiality  without  arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  in  many 
j)eriods  of  history  it  has  been  so  strong  as  to  accumulatt 
around  pure  delusions  an  amount  of  evidence  far  greater  than 
would  be  sufficient  to  establish  even  improbable  natuivii 
facts.  Through  the  entii-e  duration  of  Pagan  Rome,  it  was 
regarded  as  an  unquestionable  truth,  established  by  the  most 
ample  experience,  that  pi-odigies  of  various  kinds  anno  need 
every  memorable  event,  and  that  sacrifices  had  the  power  o/" 
mitigating  or  ari-esting  calamity.  In  the  Eepublic,  the  Senate 
itself  officially  verified  and  explained  the  prodigies.'  In  the 
Empire  there  is  not  an  historian,  from  Tacitus  down  to  the 
meanest  writer  in  the  Augustan  history,  who  was  not  con- 
\inced  that  numerous  i)rodigies  foreshadowed  the  accession 
and  death  of  every  sovereign,  and  every  great  catastrophe 
that  fell  upon  the  people.  Cicero  could  say  with  truth  that 
there  was  not  a  single  nation  of  antiquity,  from  the  polished 
Greek  to  the  rudest  savage,  which  did  not  admit  the  exi^tence 
of  a  real  art  enabling  men  to  foretell  the  future,  and  that  the 
splendid  temples  of  the  orac'es,  which  for  so  many  centuries 
commanded  the  reverence  of  mankind,  sufficiently  attested 
the  intensity  of  the  belief.^  The  reality  of  the  \vitch  mii^acles 
was  established  by  a  critical  tribunal,  which,  however  imper- 
fect, was  at  least  the  most  searching  then  existing  in  the 
world,  by  the  judicial  decisions  of  the  law  courts  of  every 
European  country,  suj^jported  by  the  unanimous  voice  of 
public  opinion,  and  corroborated  by  the  investigation  of  some 
of  the  ablest  men  during  several  centuries.  The  belief  that 
the  king's  touch  can  cure  scrofula  flourished  in  the  most 
brilliant  periods  of  English  history.^     It  wa?,  unshaken  by 


^  ^iv  C  IjQVi'is  On  the  Crcdibiliii/  solemnly   notified   by   the    cler<rj' 

»/  Romcm  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  50.  to  all   the  parish  churches  of  the 

-  Cie.  De  Dii'in.  lib.  i.  c.  1.  realm.     When  the  appointed  time 

^  '  The     days     on    which    the  came,  several  divines  in  full  canoni- 

mimcle   [of  the  king's  touch]  vras  cals    stood    round    the   canopy   of 

to  be  wrought  were  fixed  at  sittings  state.     The  surgeon  of  the  royal 

of   the   Privy    Council,  and    were  household  introduced  the  sick.     A 


364 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS?. 


the  most  numerous  and  public  exncriments.  It  was  asserted 
by  the  privy  council,  by  the  bishops  of  two  religions,  by  the 
general  voice  of  the  clergy  in  the  pahniest  days  of  the  Eng- 
lish Church,  by  the  Univ^ersity  of  Oxford,  and  by  the  enthu- 
siastic assent  of  the  people.  It  survived  the  ages  of  tho 
ueformation,  of  Bacon,  of  Milton,  and  of  Hobbes.  It  wa^ 
by  no  means  extinct  in  the  age  of  Locke,  and  would  probably 
have  lasted  still  longer,  had  not  the  change  of  dynasty  at  the 
Revolution  assisted  the  tardy  scepticism.  ^     Yet  there  is  now 


passjige  of  Mark  xvi.  was  read. 
When  the  words  "  They  shall  lay 
their  hands  on  the  sick  and  they 
shall  recover,'"hadbe3u  pronounced, 
there  was  a  pan^e  and  one  of  the 
.vick  was  brouglit  to  the  king.  His 
Majesty  stroked  the  ulcers.  .  .  . 
Then  came  the  Epistle,  &c.  The 
Service  mny  still  be  found  in  the 
Prayer  Books  of  the  reign  of  Anne. 
Indeed,  it  was  not  until  some  time 
after  the  accession  of  George  I. 
that  the  University  of  Oxford 
ceased  to  reprint  the  office  of  lieal- 
ing,  together  with  the  Liturgy. 
Theologians  of  eminent  learning, 
ability,  and  virtue  gave  the  sanc- 
tion of  their  authority  to  this 
mummery,  and,  what  is  stranger 
still,  me  deal  men  of  hiah  note 
believed,  or  affected  to  believe,  it. 
.  .  .  Charles  II.,  in  the  course  of 
his  reign,  touched  near  100,000 
persons.  ...  In  1682  he  per- 
formed the  rite  8,500  times.  In 
1681  the  throng  was  such  that  six 
or  seven  of  the  sick  were  trampled 
to  death.  James,  in  one  of  his 
progresses,  touched  800  persons  in 
the  choir  of  the  cathedral  of  Ches- 
ter.'— Macaulay's  History  of  Eng- 
land, c.  xiv. 

'  One  of  the  surgeons  of  Charles 
II.  named  John  Brown,  whose 
official  duty  it  was  to  superintend 


the  ceremony,  Mnd  who  T,ssures  us 
that  he  has  witnessed  many  thou- 
sands touched,  has  written  an  ex- 
tremely curious  account  of  it, 
called  Charimia  Basilicnn  (London, 
168i).  This  miraculous  power 
existed  exclusively  in  the  English 
and  French  royal  fimilies,  l)eing 
derived,  in  the  first,  from  Edward 
the  Confessor,  in  th.e  second,  from 
St.  Lewis.  A  surgeon  attested 
the  reality  of  the  tlisease  I'cfore 
the  miracle  was  performed.  The 
king  hung  a  riband  with  a  gold 
coin  round  the  neck  of  the  person 
touched;  but  Brown  thinks  the 
gold,  though  possessing  gi>>at  vir- 
tue, was  not  essential  to  the  cure. 
He  had  known  cases  where  the 
cured  person  had  sold,  or  ceased  to 
wear,  the  medal,  and  his  disease 
returned.  The  gift  was  unim- 
paired by  the  Reformation,  and  an 
obdurate  Catholic  was  converted 
on  finding:  that  Elizabeth,  after 
the  Pope's  excommunication,  could 
cure  his  scrofula.  Francis  I.  cured 
many  persons  when  prisoner  in 
Spain.  Charles  I.,  when  a  prisoner, 
cured  a  man  by  his  simple  benedic- 
tion, the  Puritans  not  permitting 
him  to  touch  him.  His  blood  had 
the  same  efficacy  ;  and  Charles  II., 
when  an  exile  in  the  Netherlands, 
still  retained  it.  There  were,  liow- 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  8G5 

Boircely  an  educated  man  who  will  defend  these  mii-acles. 
Considered  abstract edly,  indeed,  it  is  perfectly  conceivaLle 
that  Providence  might  have  announced  coming  events  by 
prodigies,  or  imparted  to  some  one  a  miraculous  power,  or 
permitted  evil  spirits  to  exist  among  mankind  and  assi;ji 
them  in  their  enterprises.  The  evidence  establishing  these 
miracles  is  cumulative,  and  it  is  immeasurably  greater  than 
the  evidence  of  many  natural  facts,  such  as  the  earthquakes 
at  Antioch,  which  no  one  would  dream  of  questioning. 
We  d'sbeiieve  the  mii-ac^es,  because  an  overwhelming  ex- 
perience proves  that  in  certain  intellectual  conditions,  and 
under  the  influence  of  certain  errors  which  we  are  enabled 
to  trace,  superstitions  of  this  order  invariably  appear  and 
flourish,  and  that,  when  these  intellectual  conditions  have 
passed,  the  prodigies  as  invariably  cease,  and  the  whole  fabric 
of  superstition  melts  silently  away. 

It  is  extremely  difficult  for  an  ordinary  man,  who  is  little 
conversant  with  the  writings  of  the  past,  and  who  unconsciously 
transfers  to  other  ages  the  critical  spii'it  of  his  own,  to  realise 
the  fact  that  histories  of  the  most  grotesquely  extravagant  na- 
ture could,  during  the  space  of  many  centuries,  be  continually 
propounded  without  either  provoking  the  smallest  question  or 
possessing  the  smallest  truth.  We  may,  however,  understand 
something  of  this  credulity  when  we  rememi3er  the  diversion 
of  the  ancient  mind  from  physical    science   to    speculative 

ever,    some    'Atheists,   Saddiicees,  years  and  a  half  appear  to  be  want- 

and  ill-conditioned  Pharisees  '  wlio  ing.    The  smallest  nuraljer  touched 

even    then     disbelieved     it;     and  in  one  year  was   2,983   (in    1669); 

Brown  gives  the  letter  of  one  who  the    total,    in    the    whole    reign, 

went,  a  complete  sceptic,  to  satisfy  92,107.     Brown  giA^es  nnmljers  of 

liis  frieni's,  ;iud  came  away  cured  spoL'itie    cases    with    great    detail. 

and  converted.     It  was  popularly,  ^liukspeare  has  noticed  the  power 

but    Prown    says   erroneously,  be-  (Macheth,    Act    iv.  Scene    3).     Dr. 

lieved  that  the  touch  was  peculiarly  juhuson,  when  a  boy,  was  touched 

efficacious    on    Good    Friday.     An  by  Queen  Anne;  but  at  that  time 

official  register  was  kept,  for  every  few     persons,     except     Jacc  bites; 

month  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  believed  the  miracle. 
of  the  persons  touched,    but  two 


ZQ6  HISTOEY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

philosopliy ;  the  want  of  the  many  checks  upon  error  which 
printing  affords;  the  complete  absence  of  that  habit  of  cautious, 
experimental  research  which  Bac6n  and  his  contemporaries 
infused  into  moo  em  philosophy ;  and,  in  Chiistian  times,  the 
theological  notion  that  the  spii^it  of  belief  is  a  viitue,  and 
the  spirit  of  scepticism  a  sin.  We  must  remember,  too,  that 
before  men  had  found  the  key  to  the  motions  of  the  heavenly 
bodies — before  the  false  theory  of  the  vortices  and  the  true 
theory  of  gi-avitation — when  the  multitude  of  apparently 
capricious  phenomena  was  very  great,  the  notion  tliat  the 
world  was  governed  by  distinct  and  isolated  influences  was 
that  which  appeared  most  probable  even  to  the  most  rational 
intellect.  In  such  a  condition  of  knowledge — which  was 
that  of  the  most  enlightened  days  of  the  Roman  Empire — 
the  hypothesis  of  universal  law  was  justly  regarded  as  a 
rash  and  premature  generalisation.  Every  enquuer  was 
confronted  with  innumei-able  phenomena  that  were  deemed 
plainly  mii'aculous.  When  Lucretius  sought  to  banish  the 
supernatural  from  the  universe,  he  was  compelled  to  employ 
much  ingenuity  in  endeavouring  to  explain,  by  a  natural 
law,  why  a  mii'aculous  fountam  near  the  temple  of  Jupiter 
Ammon  was  hot  by  night  and  cold  by  day,  and  why  the 
temperature  of  wells  was  higher  in  winter  than  in  summer.^ 
Eclipses  were  supposed  by  the  populace  to  foreshadoAv  cala- 
mity ;  but  the  Roman  soldiers  believed  that  by  beating  drums 
and  cymbals  they  could  cause  the  moon's  disc  to  regain  its 
bri^htness.2      In    obedience  to  dreams,  the  great  Emperor 

'  Lucretius,  lib.  vi.     The  poet  '  Fly  not  yet ;  the  fount  that  played 

says  there  nre  certain  seeds  of  In  times  of  old  through  Ammon'a 
fire  in  the  earth,  around  the  -water,         shade, 

which  the    sun    attracts  to  itself,  Though  icy  cold  l)y  day  it  ran, 

but  which    the  cold  of  the  niixlit  Yet  still,  like  souls  of  mirlh,  begaa 

represses,  and  forces  back  upon  the  To  burn  -when  night -was  near.'-- 
^ater.  Moore's  Melodies. 

The  fountain  of  Jupiter  Ammon, 
and  many  others  that -were  deemed  -Tacit.    Aimal.    i.    28.      Loug 

miraculous,  are  noticed  by  Pliny,  afterwards,   the   people   of  Turin 

Hist.  Nat.  u.  lOG.  were   accustomed   to  greet    everj 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME. 


367 


Augustus  went  begging  money  thi'ough  the  streets  of  Kome,* 
and  the  historian  who  records  the  act  himself  wrote  to  Pliny, 
entreating  the  postponement  of  a  trial. ^  The  stroke  of  the 
lightning  was  an  augury,^  and  its  menace  was  directed  espe- 
cially against  the  great,  who  cowered  in  abject  terror  during 
a  tlumder-storm.  Augustus  used  to  guard  himself  against 
thunder  by  wearing  the  skin  of  a  sea-calf. "*  Tiberius,  who 
professed  to  be  a  complete  freethinker,  had  greater  faith  in 
laurel  leaves.^  Caligula  was  accustomed  during  a  thunder- 
storm to  creep  beneath  his  bed.^  During  the  games  in 
honour  of  Julius  Caesar,  a  comet  appearing  for  seven  days 
in  the  sky,  the  people  believed  it  to  be  the  soul  of  the 
dead/  and  a  temple  was  erected  in  its  honour.^  Sometimes 
we  find  this  credulity  broken  by  curious  inconsistencies  of 
belief,  or  semi-rationalistic  explanations.  Livy,  who  relaten 
with  perfect  faith  innumerable  prodigies,  has  observed,  never- 


eclipse  Avith  loud  cries,  and  St. 
jNLiximus  of  Turin  energetically 
combated  their  superstition.  (Ceil- 
lier.  Hist,  des  Autiurs  sacres,  tome 
xiv.  p.  607.) 

'  Suet.  At(g.  xci. 

2  See  the  answer  of  the  younger 
Pliny  {Ep.  i.  18),  suggesting  that 
dreams  should  often  Reinterpreted 
by  contraries.  A  great  many  in- 
stances of  dreams  that  were  be- 
lieA'ed  to  have  been  verified  are 
given  in  Cic.  {De  Divinatione,  lib. 
i.)  and  Valerius  Maximus  (lib.  i.  c. 
vii.).  Marcus  Aurelius  (Capito- 
linus)  was  said  to  have  appeared 
to  many  persons  after  his  death  in 
dreams,  and  predicted  the  future. 

^  The  augurs  had  noted  eleven 
kinds  of  lightning  w.th  different 
gignifications.  (Pliny,  HisL  Nat. 
ji.  53.)  Pliny  says  all  nations 
agree  in  clapping  their  hands  when 
it  lightens  (xxA-iii.  5).  Cicero 
very  shrewdly  remarked  that  the 


Roman  considered  lightning  a  good 
omen  when  it  shone  upon  his  left, 
while  the  Greeks  and  barbarians 
belicA-ed  it  to  be  auspicious  when 
it  was  upon  the  right.  (Cic.  De 
Divinat.  ii.  39.)  When  Constantino 
prohiliited  all  other  forms  of  magic, 
he  especially  authorised  that  which 
was  intended  to  avert  hail  and 
lightning.  {Cod.  Theod.  lib.  ix.  tit. 
xvi.  1.  3.) 

•*  Suet.  Avg.  xe. 

*  Ibid.  Tiber.  \x\x.  The  virtue 
of  laurel  leaves,  and  of  the  skin  of  a 
sea-calf,  as  preserA'atives  against 
lightning,  are  noticed  ly  Pliny 
{Hist.  Nat.  ii.  56),  wlio  also  says 
(xv.  40)  that  the  laurel  leaf  is  be- 
lieved to  have  a  natural  antipathy 
to  fire,  which  it  shows  by  its  angry 
crackling  when  in  contact  with 
that  element. 

^  Suet.  Calig.  ii. 

^  Suet.  Jid.  C(FS.  Ixxxviii, 

«  Plin.  Hist.  Nat.  ii.  23. 


368 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


thekss,  that  the  more  prodigies  ai'e  believed,  the  more  thev 
are  announced.^  Those  who  admitted  most  fully  the  reality 
of  the  oracles  occasionally  represented  them  as  natural, 
contending  that  a  prophetic  faculty  was  innate  in  all  men, 
though  dormant  in  most;  that  it  might  be  quickened  mto 
action  by  sleep,  by  a  pure  and  ascetic  life,  or  in  the  prostra- 
tion that  precedes  death,  or  in  the  delii'ium  produced  by 
certain  vapours ;  and  that  the  gradual  enfeebling  of  the  last 
was  the  cause  of  the  cessation  of  the  oracles.^     Earthquakes 


'  '  Prodigia  eo  anno  miilta  nun- 
tiflta  sunt,  quse  quo  magis  crede- 
Lant  simplices  ac  religiosi  homines 
eo  plura  nuntial  antur  '  (xxiv.  10). 
Compare  "with  this  the  remark  of 
Cicero  on  the  oracles :  '  Quando 
autem  ilia  vis  evanuit  ?  An  post- 
quara  homines  minus  creduli  esse 
eoeperunt  ?'     {De  Div.  ii.  57.) 

-  This  theory,  wh  ch  is  de- 
veloped at  length  by  the  Stoic,  in 
the  first  book  of  the  De  Divina- 
tione  of  Cicero,  grcAV  out  of  the 
pantheistic  notion  that  the  human 
soul  is  a  part  of  the  Deity,  and 
therefore  ly  nature  a  participator 
in  the  Divine  attribute  of  prescience. 
The  soul,  ho^vever,  was  crushed  by 
the  weight  of  the  body ;  and  there 
were  two  ways  of  evoking  its  pre- 
science—the ascetic  May,  which 
attenuates  the  body,  and  the  magi- 
cal way,  which  stimulates  the 
soul.  ApoUonius  declared  that 
his  power  of  prophecy  was  not  due 
to  magic,  but  solely  to  his  absti- 
nence from  animal  food.  (Philost. 
^p.  of  Tyava,  viii.  5.)  Among 
those  who  believed  the  oracles, 
there  were  two  theories.  The  first 
was  that  they  were  inspired  bj- 
dseraons  or  spirits  of  a  degree  lower 
than  the  gods  The  second  was, 
that  they  were  due  to  the  action 
of  certain  vapours  which  emanated 
from    the     eaverus     beneath    the 


temples,  and  which,  by  throwing 
the  priestess  into  a  state  of  de- 
lirium, evoked  her  prophetic 
powers.  The  first  theory  was  that 
of  the  Platonists,  and  it  was 
adopted  by  the  Christians,  who, 
however,  changed  the  signification 
of  the  word  daemon.  The  second 
theory,  which  appears  to  be  due 
to  Aristotle  (Baltus,  Rejoonse  a 
VHisioire  dcs  Oracles,  p.  132),  is 
noticed  by  Cic.  Be  Div.  i.  19  ;  Plin. 
H.  N.  ii.  95 ;  and  others.  It  is 
closely  allied  to  the  modern  belief 
in  clairvoyance.  Plutarch,  in  his 
treatiseonthe  decline  of  theoracles, 
attributesthat  decline  sometimes  to 
the  death  of  the  daemons  (who  were 
believed  to  be  mortal),  and  some- 
times to  the  exhaustion  of  the 
vapours.  The  oraeles  themselves, 
according  to  Porphyry  (Font enelle. 
Hist,  des  Orcuics,^^.  220-222,  first 
ed.),  attributed  it  to  the  second 
cause.  Iaml;lichus  (Dc  My  si.  §  iii. 
c.  xi.)  combines  both  theories,  and 
both  are  very  clearly  stated  in  the 
following  curious  j^assage  :  "Quara- 
quam  Platoni  credam  inter  deos 
at  que  homines,  natura  et  loco 
medias  quasdam  divorum  potes- 
tates  intersitas,  easque  di\-inal  innes 
cunctas  et  magorum  miracula 
gubcrnare.  Quin  et  illud  mecuin 
reputo,  po.sse  animuni  liumanum, 
praescrtim,  puerilem  et  s'mplicem, 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  369 

weix]  believed  to  result  from  supernatural  interpositions,  and 
to  call  for  expiatory  sacrifices,  but  at  the  same  time  they 
had  tlirect  natural  antecedents.  The  Greeks  believed  that 
they  were  caused  by  subterranean  waters,  and  they  accord- 
ingly saci'iiiced  to  Poseidon.  The  Romans  were  uncertain  aa 
to  their  physical  antecedents,  and  therefore  iuscril^ed  nj 
name  on  the  altar  of  expiation.'  Pythagoras  is  said  to  have 
attributed  them  to  the  strugglings  of  the  dead.'^  Pliny, 
after  a  long  d  scussion,  decided  that  they  were  produced  by 
air  forcing  itself  through  fissures  of  the  earth,  but  he  im- 
mediately proceeds  to  assei't  that  they  are  invariably  the 
precursors  of  calamity.""^  The  same  writer,  having  recounted 
the  triumph  of  astronomers  in  predicting  and  explaining 
eclipses,  bursts  into  an  eloquent  apostrophe  to  those  great 
men  who  had  thus  reclaimed  man  from  the  dominion  of 
superstition,  and  in  high  and  enthusiastic  terms  urges  them 
to  pursue  still  further  their  labour  in  breaking  the  thraldom 
of  ignorance.'*  A  few  chapters  later  he  pi'ofesses  his  imhesi 
la  ting  belief  in  the  ominous  character  of  comets.^  The 
aotions,  too,  of  magic  and  astrology,  were  detached  from  all 
cheological  belief,  and  might  be  found  among  many  who  were 
absolute  atheists.^ 

These  few  examples  will  be  sufficient  to  show  how  fully 
the  Roman  soil  was  prepared  for  the  reception  of  miraculous 
histories,  even  after  the  writings  of  Cicero  and  Seneca,  in  the 

sen    carminum    avocamento,    sive  earthquake  that  occurred  during  a 

o  lorum   deleaimento,   suporari,   et  battle. 

a  I  obliviouem  prsesentiiim  exter-  -  ^lian,  Hist.  Var.  iv.  17. 

niri:  et  paulisper  remota  corporis  '  Hist.  Kat.  ii.  81-86. 

msmori  I.    redigi  ac  redire  ad  na-  •*  Ibid.  ii.  9. 

tiirim  sua  11.  qu:e  est  imraortalis  *  Ibid.  ii.  23. 

Bcil'cet  et  dii'iua;  atqiie  ita  veluti  *I  have   referred  in  the   last 

quodam  sopore   nitura  rerum  pvae-  chapter  to  a  striking  passage  oi 

Bugire.' — Apuleius,  ApoJog.  Am.  Marcelliuus  on  this  combina- 

'  Aul.  Gell.  Nod.  ii.  28.  Florus,  tion.     The    reader  may  find  some 

however  {Hist.  i.  19),  mentions  a  curious  instances  of  the  supersti- 

Roman  general  appeasing  the  g)d-  tions  of  Roman  sceptics  in  Cham- 

Jess  Earth  on   the  occasion  of  an  pagry,  Les  Antonins,  tome  iii.  u.  46. 


370  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MOPxALS. 

brilliant  days  of  Augustus  and  the  Antonines.  Tlie  feeblo. 
ness  of  the  uncultivated  mind,  which  cannot  rise  above 
material  conceptions,  had  indeed  passed  away,  the  legends  of 
the  popular  theology  had  lost  all  power  over  the  educated, 
l)ut  at  the  same  time  an  absolute  ignorance  of  physical  science 
a,nd  of  inductive  reasoning  remained.  The  facihty  of  belief 
ihat  was  manifested  by  some  of  the  most  eminent  men, 
even  on  matters  that  were  not  deemed  supernatural,  can  only 
be  realised  by  those  who  have  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
their  works.  Thus,  to  give  but  a  few  examples,  that  gi-eat 
naturalist  whom  I  have  so  often  cited  tells  us  with  the  ut- 
most gi-avity  how  the  fiercest  lion  ti-embles  at  the  crowing  of 
a  cock  ;  '  how  elephants  celebrate  their  religious  ceremonies  ;  '-^ 
how  the  stag  draws  serpents  by  its  breath  from  their  holes, 
and  then  tramples  them  to  death  ;  ^  how  the  salamander  is 
so  deadly  that  the  food  cooked  in  water,  or  the  fruit  giown 
on  trees  it  has  touched,  are  fatal  to  man  ;  ^  how,  when  a  ship 
is  flying  before  so  fierce  a  tempest  that  no  anchors  or  chains 
can  hold  it,  if  only  the  remora  or  echinus  fastens  on  its  keel, 
it  is  arrested  in  its  coui-se,  and  remains  motionless  and  rooted 
among  the  waves. ^  On  matters  that  would  appear  the  most 
easily  verified,  he  is  equally  confident.  Thus,  the  human 
saliva,  he  assures  us,  has  many  mysterious  pi-opei'ties.  If  a 
man,  especially  when  fasting,  spits  into  the  throat  of  a  ser- 
pent, it  is  said  that  the  animal  speedily  dies.®  It  is  certain 
that  to  anoint  the  eyes  with  spittle  is  a  sovereign  remedy 
against  ophthalmia.'^  If  a  pugilist,  having  struck  his  adver- 
sary, spits  into  liis  own  hand,  the  pain  he  ca'ised  instantly 


'  v'iii.   19.     This   is  also  men-           *  xxxii.  1. 

tioned  by  Lucretius.  «  vii.  2. 

*  viii.  1.  '  xxviii.    7.      The    blind   man 
'  viii.  50.     This  -was  one  of  the     restored  to  sight  by  Vespasian  was 

reasons  why  the  early  Christians     cured  by  anointing  his  eyes  with 

sometimes  adopted  the  stag  as  a     spittle.      (Suet.    Vcsp.    7;    Tacit. 

sjmbol  of  Christ.  Hist.  iv.  81.) 

*  xxix.  23. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  371 

roases.  If  he  sjDits  into  his  hand  before  striking,  the  blow 
is  the  more  severe.^  Aristotle,  the  greatest  naturalist  of 
Greece,  had  observed  that  it  was  a  curious  fact  that  on  the 
8ea  shoi-e  no  animal  ever  dies  except  during  the  ebbing  of 
the  tide.  Several  centuries  later,  Pliny,  the  greatest  natura- 
list of  an  empire  that  was  washed  by  many  tidal  seas,  dii-ectod 
his  attention  to  this  statement.  He  declared  that,  after  care- 
ful observations  which  had  been  made  in  Gaul,  it  had  been 
found  to  be  inaccurate,  for  what  Ai'istotle  stated  of  all  anima^«! 
was  in  fact  only  true  of  man.^  It  was  in  1727  and  the  two 
following  years,  that  scientific  observations  made  at  Eochefort 
and  at  Brest  finally  dissipated  the  delusion.^ 

Volumes  might  be  filled  with  illustrations  of  how  readily, 
in  the  most  enlightened  days  of  the  Roman  Empire,  strange, 
and  especially  miraculous,  tales  were  believed,  even  under 
circumstances  that  would  appear  to  give  eveiy  facility  for 
the  detection  of  the  imposture.  In  the  field  of  the  super- 
natural, however,  it  should  be  remembered  that  a  movement; 
which  I  have  traced  in  the  last  chapter,  had  produced  a  very 
exceptional  amount  of  ciedulity  during  the  century  and  a 
half  that  preceded  the  conversion  of  Constant Lne.  Neither 
the  writings  of  Cicei-o  and  Seneca,  nor  even  those  of  Pliny 
and  Plutarch,  can  be  regarded  as  fair  samples  of  the  belief  of 
the  educated.  The  Epicurean  philosophy  which  rejected,  the 
Academic  philosophy  which  doubted,  and  the  Stoic  philosophy 
which  simplified  and  sublimated  superstition,  had  alike  dis- 
appeared. The  '  Meditations  '  of  Marcus  Aurelius  closed 
the  period  of  Stoical  influence,  and  the  '  Dialogues '  of  Luciau 
were  the  last  solitary  protest  of  expii-ing  scepticism.''  The 
R'm  of  the  philosophy  of  Cicero  had  been  to  ascertain  tnith 

'Ibid.     The  custom  of  spitting  is,  however,  said  still  to  linger  in 

in    thd  hand   before  striking  still  many  sea-coast  towns, 
exists  among  pugilists.  ^  Lucian   is   believed   to    have 

^  ii.  101.  died  about  two  years  before  Mar- 

3  Legendre,  Traite  del  Opinion,  cus  Aurelius. 
tome  ii.  p.  17.     The  superstition 


372 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 


by  the  fi-ee  exercise  of  the  ciitical  powers.  The  aini  of  thf. 
Pythagorean  philosophy  was  to  attain  the  state  of  ecstasy, 
and  to  purify  the  mind  by  religious  rites.  Every  philosopher 
soon  plimg3d  into  magical  practices,  and  was  encii'cled,  in  the 
eyes  of  his  disciples,  with  a  halo  of  legend.  Apollonius  of 
Tyana,  whom  the  Pagans  opposed  to  Christ,  had  ra'sed  the 
dead,  healed  the  sick,  cast  out  devils,  freed  a  young  man  from 
a  lamia  or  vampire  with  whom  he  was  enamoured,  prophesied, 
seen  in  one  country  events  that  were  occurring  in  another, 
and  filled  the  world  with  the  fame  of  his  miracles  and  of  his 
sanctity.'  A  similar  power,  notwithstanding  his  own  dis- 
claimer, was  popularly  attributed  to  the  Platonist  Apulcius.^ 


'  See  his  very  curious  Life  Ly 
Philostratus.  This  Life  -was  writ- 
ten at  the  request  of  Julia  Domna, 
the  wife  of  Septimus  Severus, 
Avhether  or  not  with  the  intention 
of  opposing  the  Gospel  narrative  is 
a  question  still  fiercely  discussed. 
Among  the  most  recent  Church 
historians,  Pressense  maintains  tlie 
aflBrmative,  and  Neanderthe  nega- 
tive. Apollonius  Avas  born  nt  nearly 
the  same  time  as  Christ,  but  out- 
lived Domitian.  The  traces  of  his 
influence  are  widely  spread  through 
the  literature  of  the  empire. 
Eunapius  calls  him  '  'AttoT^.Xwulos  6 
e«  Tvavwu,  ovKeri  (pi\6(To(pos  aAA.' 
7,1/  Tt  Sed-i/  Te  Kai  avQpdiirou  ixiaov.' 
— Lives  of  th"  Siipl/isifi.  Xiphilin 
relates  (Ixvii.  18  >  the  story,  told 
also  by  Phdostratus,  how  Apollo- 
nius, being  at  Ephesus,  saw  the 
assassination  of  Domitian  at  Rome. 
Alexander  Severus  placed  {Lam- 
w'idius  Severus)  the  statiie  of 
Apollonius  with  those  of  Orpheus, 
Abraham,  and  Chi'ist,  fee  worship 
'n  his  oratory.  Aurelian  was  re- 
ported to  have  l)een  diverted  from 
ois  intention  of  destroying  Tyana 
by    the  ghost  of  the  philosopher, 


who  appeared  in  his  tent,  rebuked 
him,  and  saved  the  city  (Vopiscus, 
Aiireliai}) ;  and,  lastly,  the  Pagan 
philosopher  Hierocles  wrote  a  book 
opposing  Apollonius  to  Christ, 
which  was  answered  by  Eusebius. 
The  Fathers  of  the  fourth  century 
always  spoke  of  him  as  a  great 
magician.  Some  curious  passages 
on  the  subject  are  collected  l)y  M, 
Chassang,  in  the  introduction  to 
his  French  translation  of  the  work 
of  Philostratus. 

2  See  his  defence  against  the 
charge  of  magic.  Apuleius,  who 
was  at  once  a  bi'illiant  rhe^'orician, 
the  writer  of  an  extremely  curious 
noA'el  {The  Metamorphoses,  or 
Golden  Ass),  and  of  many  other 
works,  and  an  indefatigal  ile  student 
of  the  religious  mysteries  of  his  t  irae, 
lived  through  the  reigns  of  Hadrian 
and  his  two  i^uccessors.  After  his 
death  his  fame  was  for  aljout  a  c*  c- 
tury  apparently  eclipsed;  and  it 
has  been  noticed  as  very  remark- 
able that  Tertullian.  who  lived  a 
generation  after  Apuleius,  and  who, 
like  him,  was  a  Carthaginian,  has 
never  even  mentioned  him.  During 
the  fourth  century  his  reputation  re- 


TIIK    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  b73 

Liician  has  left  us  a  detailed  account  of  the  impostui-es  bj 
wbich  the  philosopher  Alexander  endeavoured  to  acquire  the 
fame  of  a  miracle- worker.'  When  a  magician  plotted  against 
Plotinus,  his  spells  recoiled  miraculously  against  himself ;  and 
when  an  E£fy]jtian  priest  endeavoured  by  incantations  to  evoke 
the  guardian  daemon  of  the  philosopher,  instead  of  a  da-mon 
the  temple  of  Isis  was  irradiated  by  the  presence  of  a  god.'^ 
Porphyry  was  said  to  have  expelled  an  evil  daemon  from  a 
bath.^  It  was  reported  among  his  disciples  that  when  Xam- 
blichus  prayed  he  was  raised  (like  the  saiiitsof  another  creed) 
ten  cubits  from  the  ground,  and  that  his  body  and  his  dress 
assumed  a  golden  hue."*  It  was  well  known  that  he  had  at 
Gadara  drawn  forth  from  the  waters  of  two  fountains  theii 
guardian  spirits,  and  exhibited  thom  in  bodily  form  to  his 
disciples.^  A  woman  named  Sospitra  had  been  visited  by  two 
sph'its  under  the  form  of  aged  Chaldeans,  and  had  been  en- 
dowed with  a  transcendent  beauty  and  with  a  superhuman 
knowledge.  Eaised  above  all  human  frailties,  save  only  love 
and  death,  she  was  able  to  see  at  once  the  deeds  which  were 
done  in  every  land,  and  the  people,  dazzled  by  her  beauty  and 
her  wkdom,  ascribed  to  her  a  share  of  the  omnipresence  of 
the  Deity.6 

Christianity  floated  into  the  Roman  Empire  on  the  wave 
of  credulity  that  brought  with  it  this  long  train  of  Oriental 


viA-ed,  and  Lactautius.  St.  Jerome,  Metamorphoses  of  Apiileius.     See, 
and  St.  Augustine  relate  that  many  too,  Juvenal,  &at.  vi.  olO  ASo. 
miracles  were  attributed   to   him,  -  'Por-^hyvy's,  Life  of  liotinus. 
and    tliat    he    was    placed    by  the           '  Eunapius,  P<>rph. 
Pagans  on  a  level  with  Christ   and  ■*  Ibid.  Jamh.     lamblichus  him- 
regarded  by  some  as  even  a  greater  self  only  laughed  at  the  report, 
magician.     See   the  sketch  of  his           *  Eunapius,  Iamb. 
life  by  M.  Betolaud  prefixed  to  the           °  See    her    life    in    Eunapius, 
FanckoTicke  edition  of  his  works.  (ICdmcns.     ^rlian  and  the  rh^-tori- 
'  Life  of  AUxandtr.     There  is  cian  Aristides  are  also  full  of  tha 
tn  extremely  curious  picture  of  the  wildest  prodigies.     There  is  an  in- 
religious  jugglers,  who  were  wan-  teresting  dissertation  on  this  sub- 
dering  about    the  Empire,  in    the  ject  in  Friedlsender  ( Trac?.  jPVa»ft 
eighth   and    ninth    books    of    the  tome  iv.  p.  177-186). 


374  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

Biiperstitions  and  legends.  In  its  moral  aspect  it  was  broadly 
distinguished  from  the  systems  aground  it,  but  its  miracles 
were  accepted  by  both  friend  and  foe  as  the  ordinary  gccom- 
paniments  of  religious  teaching.  The  Jews,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Pagans,  had  long  been  proverbial  for  their  credulity,^  and 
the  Christians  inherited  a  double  measure  of  their  reputation. 
Nor  is  it  possible  to  deny  that  in  the  matter  of  the  m'racu- 
lous  the  reputation  was  deserved.  Among  the  Pagans  the 
tlieory  of  Euhemerus,  who  believed  the  gods  to  be  but  deihed 
mea,  had  been  the  stronghold  of  the  Sceptics,  while  the 
Platonic  notion  of  daemons  was  adopted  by  the  more  believing 
philosophers.  The  Christian  teachers  combined  both  theories^, 
maintaining  that  deceased  kings  had  originally  supplied  the 
names  of  the  deities,  but  that  malevolent  dcTmons  had  taken 
the  r  places ;  and  without  a  single  exception  the  Fathers 
maintained  the  reality  of  the  Pagan  miracles  as  fully  as  their 
own.2  The  oracles,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  ridiculed  and 
rejected  by  numbers  of  the  philosophers,  but  the  Christians 
uranimously  admitted  theii*  reality.  They  appealed  to  a  long 
series  of  oracles  as  predictions  of  their  faith ;  and  there  is,  I 
believe,  no  example  of  the  denial  of  their  supernatural  cha- 
racter in  the  Chi'istian  Chiu^ch  till  1696,  when  a  Dutch 
Anabaptist  minister  named  Yan  Dale,  in  a  remarkable  book,^ 


I'Credat     Judseus    Apella.' —  eases,  they  did  it  by  natural  means, 

Ilor.  Sat.  V.  100.  which    their    superior    knowledge 

2  This  appears  from  all  the  and  power  placed  at  their  disposal, 
writings  of  the  Fathers.  There  Concf-rning  prophecy,  it  was  the 
Avere,  however,  two  forms  of  Pagan  opinion  of  some  of  the  Fathers  that 
miracles  about  which  there  Avas  intuitive  prescience  was  a  Divine 
s  )me  hesitation  in  the  early  Church  prerogative,  andthatthepresciencfl 
--the  beneficent  miracle  of  heal-  of  the  daemons  was  only  acquired 
ing  and  the  miracle  of  prophecy,  by  observation.  Their  immense 
Concerning  the  first,  the  common  knowledge  enabled  them  to  forecast 
opinion  was  that  the  daemons  only  events  to  a  degree  far  transcend- 
cured  diseases  they  had  themselves  ing  human  faculties,  and  they  era- 
caused,  or  that,  at  least,  if  they  ever  ployed  this  power  in  the  oracles, 
(inor'.er  to  enthral  men  more  effec-  =*  De  Origme  ac  Progressu  Tdola 
tually)  cvu-ed   purely  natural  dis  trice  (Amsterdam). 


TIIL    CUNVKIISION    OF    HOME.  375 

\vli!cli  was  abridged  and  translated  by  Fontenelle,  asserted^ 
in  opiX)sition  to  the  unanimous  voice  of  ecclesiastical  authoiity,. 
that  they  were  simple  impostures — a  theory  which  is  now 
almost  universally  accepted.  To  suppose  that  men  who  held 
the^.e  opinions  were  capable,  in  the  second  or  thu-d  centuries. 
of  ascertaining  with  any  degree  of  just  confidence  whether 
miracles  had  taken  place  in  Judaea  in  the  first  century,  is 
grossly  absui  d  ;  nor  woiUd  the  conviction  of  their  reality  have 
made  any  gieat  impression  on  the'r  minds  at  a  time  when 
mu-acles  were  supposed  to  be  so  abundantly  diffused. 

In  truth,  the  question  of  the  reality  of  the  Jewish  miracles 
must  be  carefully  distinguished  from  that  of  the  conversion 
of  the  Roman  Empire.  With  the  light  that  is  furnished  to 
us  by  modern  investigations  and  habits  of  thought,  we  weigh 
the  testimony  of  the  Jewish  writers  ;  but  most  of  the  more 
judicious  of  modern  apologists,  considering  the  extreme  cre- 
dulity of  the  Jewish  people,  decline  to  make  the  question 
simply  one  of  evidence,  and  occupy  themselves  chiefly  in  en- 
deavouring to  show  that  mii-acles  are  possible,  that  those 
recorded  in  the  Biblical  narratives  are  related  in  such  a 
manner,  and  are  so  interwoven  with  the  texture  of  a  simple 
and  artless  narrative,  as  to  carry  with  them  an  internal  proof 
of  their  reality ;  that  they  differ  in  kind  from  later  miracles, 
and  especially  that  the  character  and  destinies  of  Christianity 
are  such  as  to  render  its  mii-aculous  origin  antecedently  prob- 
able. But  in  the  ages  when  the  Roman  Empire  was  ch'efiy 
converted,  all  sound  and  discriminating  historical  investiga- 
tion of  the  evidence  of  the  early  miracles  was  impossible,  nor 
w^as  any  large  use  made  of  those  miracles  as  pi-oofs  of  the 
religion.  Tlie  rhetorician  Arnobius  is  probably  the  only  one 
of  the  early  apologists  who  gives,  among  the  evidences  of  the 
Uiith,  ai;y  prominent  place  to  the  mii-aclesof  Christ.'      When 


'  Ths    chMractei'istic   of   early     hihitedhy  Fresaenae.  Hint,  des  irou 
Christian  apology  is  forcibly  ex-     fremicrs  Siecles,  2""^  serie,  tome  ii. 


376  nisTORY  OF  European  morals. 

UAident'.al  reasoning  was  employed,  it  was  usually  an  appeal 
not  to  mii'aolcs,  but  to  prophecy.  But  here  again  the  opinions 
of  the  patiistic  age  must  be  j)ronounced  absolutely  worthless. 
To  prove  tliat  events  had  taken  place  in  Judrea,  accurately 
coiTesponding  with  the  prophecies,  or  that  the  projihecies 
were  themselves  genuine,  were  both  tasks  far  transcending 
the  critical  powers  of  the  Roman  converts.  The  wild  ex  tra- 
vagance  of  fantastic  allegory,  commonly  connected  with 
Origen,  but  which  appears  at  a  much  earlier  date  in  the 
writings  of  Justin  INIartyr  an<l  Irenaeus,  had  thrown  the  in- 
terpretation of  prophecy  into  hopeless  confusion,  while  the 
deliberate  and  apparently  perfectly  unscrupulous  forgery  of  a 
whole  literatm-e,  destined  to  further  the  propagation  either 
of  Christianity  as  a  whole,  or  of  some  particular  class  of 
tenets  that  had  arisen  within  its  border,^  made  criticism  at 
once  pre-eminently  difficult  and  necessary.  A  long  series  of 
oracles  were  cited,  predicting  in  detail  the  sufterings  of  Christ. 
The  prophecies  forged  by  the  Christians,  and  atti-ibutcd  by 
them  to  the  heathen  Sibyls,  were  accepted  as  genuine  by  the 
entii-e  Chui^ch,  and  were  continually  appealed  to  as  among 
the  mocit  powerfid  evidences  of  the  faith.  Ju-^tin  Martyr 
declared  that  it  was  by  the  instigation  of  dser^iion'*  that  it  had 
been  made  a  capit.il  offence  to  read  them.^  Clement  of 
Alexandria  preserved  the  tradition  that  St.  Paul  bad  urojed 
the  brethren  to  study  them.^  Celsus  designated  the  ChrLstii>ns 
Sibyllists,  on  account  of  the  pertinacity  with  which  they  m- 
SLsted  upon  them."*  Constantine  the  Great  adduced  them  in 
a  solertfn  speech  before  the  Council  of  Nice.""^  St.  A  u£»;ustine 
notices  that  the  Greek  word  for  a  fish,  which,  containmg  the 
initial  letters   of   the  name   and   titles  of   Christ,   had  be^n 

'  The  immense  number  of  these  graded   for    having    forged    soro^ 

forged  writings  is  noticed  by  all  voyages  of  St.  Paul  and  St.  Theclrt. 

C-^ndid    historians,  and  there  is,  I  (Tert.  De  Baptismo,  17.) 
believe,   only  one  instance  of  any  '  AjjoK  i.         '  Strom,  vi.  c.  5. 

attempt    being    made    to   prevent  ■•  Origen,  Cant.  Cels.  v. 

this  pious  fraud.     A  priest  was  de-  *  Oratiu  (apud  Euseb.)  sviii. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    EOME.  377 

adopted  by  the  Early  Church  as  its  sacred  symbol,  contains 
also  the  initial  letters  of  some  prophetic  lines  ascribed  to  the 
Sibyl  of  Erythra.'  The  Pagans,  it  is  true,  accused  their 
ui>ponents  of  having  forged  or  interpolated  these  prophecies ;  ^ 
but  there  was  not  a  single  Christian  writer  of  the  patristi( 
period  who  disputed  their  authority,  and  there  were  very  fevi 
even  of  the  most  illustrious  who  did  not  appeal  to  them. 
Unanimously  admitted  by  the  Church  of  the  Fathers,  they 
wei-e  unanimously  admitted  during  the  middle  ages,  and  an 
allusion  to  them  passed  into  the  most  beautiful  lyric  of  the 
Missal.  It  was  only  at  the  period  of  the  Reformation  that 
the  great  but  unhappy  Castellio  pointed  out  many  passages 
in  them  which  could  not  possibly  be  genuine.  He  was  fol- 
lowed, in  the  first  years  of  the  seventeenth  century,  by  a 
Jesuit  named  Posse vin,  who  observed  that  the  Sibyls  were 
known  to  have  lived  at  a  later  period  than  Moses,  and  that 
many  passages  in  the  Sibylline  books  purported  to  have  been 
written  before  Moses.  Those  passages,  therefore,  he  said, 
were  interpolated ;  and  he  added,  with  a  characteristic 
sagacity,  that  they  had  doubtless  been  inserted  by  Satan,  for 
the  purpose  of  throwing  suspicion  upon  the  books. ^  It  was 
in  1649  that  a  French  Protestant  minister,  named  Blondel, 
ventured  for  the  fii-st  time  in  the  Christian  Church  to  de- 
nounce these  writings  as  deliberate  and  clumsy  forgeries,  and 
after  much  angry  controversy  his  sentiment  has  acquired  an 
almost  undisputed  ascendancy  in  criticism. 

But  although  the  opinion  of  the  Ptoman  converts  was  ex- 
tremely worthless,  when  dealing  with  past  history  or  with 
literary  criticism,  there  was  one  branch  of  mii^acles  concern- 
ing which  their  position  was  somewhat  different.     Contcm' 


^  De  Civ.  Dei,  xviii.  23.  conficta    atque    coniposita.' — Lae- 

2  Constantine,  Oratiox\x.   'His  tant,  Div.  Inst.  iv.  15. 
testimoniis  quidam  revicti  solent  ^  Antomnsl'ossevinus,  Appara- 

eo  confugere  iit  aiant  non  esse  ilia  tus  Sacer  (J  606),  yerb.  '  Sibylla.' 
carmina   Sibyllina,    sed   a   nostris 

26 


378  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

poraiy  mu-acles,  often  of  the  most  extraoi-dinaiy  character, 
but  usually  of  the  natui-e  of  visions,  exorcisms,  or  healing  tho 
sick,  were  from  the  time  of  Justin  Martyr  uniformly  repre- 
Bented  by  the  Fathers  as  existing  among  them,*  and  they  con- 
tinue steadily  along  the  path  of  history,  till  in  the  pages  of 
Evagrius  and  Theodoret,  in  the  Lives  of  Hilarion  and  Paul, 
by  St  Jerome,  of  Antony,  by  St.  Athanasius,  and  of  Gregory 
Thaumatui-gus,  by  his  namesake  of  Nyssa,  and  in  the  Dia- 
logues of  St.  Gregory  the  Great,  they  attain  as  grotesque  an 
extravagance  as  the  v/ildest  mediaeval  legends.  Few  things 
are  more  striking  than  the  assertions  hazai-ded  on  this  matter 
by  some  of  the  ablest  of  the  Fathers.  Thus,  St.  Irenaeus 
assures  us  that  all  Chiistians  possessed  the  power  of  working 
miracles  ;  that  they  prophesied,  cast  out  devils,  healed  the 
sick,  and  sometimes  even  raised  the  dead  ;  that  some  who  had 
been  thus  resuscitated  lived  for  many  years  among  them,  and 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  reckon  the  wondeiful  acts  that 
were  daily  performed. ^  St.  Epiphanius  tells  us  that  some 
rivers  and  fountains  were  annually  transformed  into  wine,  in 
attestation  of  the  miracle  of  Cana  ;  and  he  adds  that  he  had 
himself  drunk  of  one  of  these  fountains,  and  his  brethren  of 
another.^  St.  Augustine  notices  that  miracles  were  less 
frequent  and  less  widely  known  than  formerly,  but  that  many 
still  occurred,  and  some  of  them  he  had  himself  witnessed. 
Whenever  a  mmicle  was  re})orted,  he  ordered  that  a  special 
examination  into  its  cii-cumstances  should  be  made,  and  that 
the  depositions  of  the  witnesses  should  be  read  publicly  to 
the  people.  He  tells  us,  besides  many  other  mirac'es,  that 
Gamaliel  in  a  dream  revealed  to  a  priest  named  Lucianus  the 
place  where  the  bones  of  St.  Stephen  were  buried ;  that  those 
bones,  being  thus  discovered,  were  bro  ght  to  Hipi)o,  the 
diocese  of  which  St.  Augustine  was  bishop  ;  that  they  raised 


»  This  subject  is  fully  treated  ^  IreniBiis,  Contr.  Hmres.yi.  Z% 

by  Middleton  in  his  Free  Enquiry,  '  Epiphan.  Adv.  HcBres.  ii.  30, 

vrbjm  I  have  closely  followed. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  379 

five  deiid  persoiis  to  life  ;  and  that,  although  only  a  j)ortion 
of  the  mii-aciilous  cures  they  efiected  had  been  registered,  the 
certificates  drawn  up  in  two  years  in  the  diocese,  and  by  the 
orders  of  the  saint,  were  nearly  seventy.  In  the  adjoining 
diocese  of  Calama  they  were  incomparably  more  numerous. ' 
In  the  height  of  the  great  conflict  between  St.  Ambrose  and 
the  Aiian  Empi-ess  Justina,  the  saint  declared  that  it  had 
been  revealed  to  him  by  an  irresistible  presentiment — or,  as 
St.  Augustine,  who  was  present  on  the  occasion,  says,  in  a 
dream — that  relics  were  buried  in  a  spot  which  he  indicated. 
The  earth  being  removed,  a  tomb  was  found  filled  with  blood, 
and  containing  two  gigantic  skeletons,  with  their  heat  Is 
severed  from  theii-  bodies,  which  were  pronounced  to  be  those 
of  St.  Gcrvasius  and  St.  Protasius,  two  martyrs  of  remark- 
able physical  dimensions,  who  were  said  to  have  suffered  about 
300  years  before.  To  prove  that  they  were  genuine  relics,  the 
bones  were  brought  in  contact  with  a  blind  man,  who  was 
restored  to  sight,  and  with  demoniacs,  who  were  ciu-ed;  the 
daemons,  however,  in  the  first  place,  acknowledging  that  the 
relics  were  genuine ;  that  St.  Ambrose  was  the  deadly  enemy 
of  the  powers  of  hell ;  that  the  Trinitarian  doctrine  was  true  ; 
and  that  those  who  rejected  it  would  infallibly  be  damned. 
The  next  day  St.  Ambrose  delivered  an  invective  against  all 
who  questioned  the  miracle.  St.  Augustine  recorded  it  in 
his  works,  and  spi'ead  the  worship  of  the  saints  through 
Africa.  The  ti*ans[»ort  of  enthusiasm  with  which  the  mii-acles 
were  greeted  at  Milan  enabled  St.  Ambrose  to  overcome 
every  obstacle  ;  but  the  Arians  treated  them  with  a  derisive 
incredulity,  and  declared  that  the  pretended  demoniacs  had 
been  bribed  by  the  saint. ^ 

Statements  of  this  kind,   which  are  selected  from  vei'y 


St.  Aug.  De  Civ.  Dei,  xxii.  8.  Nola,  in  his  Life  of  Ambrose ;  and 

2  This  history  is  related  by  St.  by  St.  Augustine,  De  Civ.  Dei,xi^ 

Ambrose  in  a  letter  to  his  sister  8;   Confess,  ix.  "J. 
Marcellina ;     b}'   St.    Paulinus   of 


380  IIlSTOltT    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

many  taat  are  equally  positive,  though  not  equally  precise, 
suggest  veins  of  thought  of  obvious  interest  and  importance. 
We  are  now,  however,  only  concerned  with  the  fact,  that, 
with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  isolated  miracles,  such 
as  the  last  I  have  noticed,  and  of  one  class  of  mii-aclea 
wjiich  I  shall  proceed  to  describe,  these  prodigies,  whethei- 
true  or  false,  were  wrought  for  the  exclusive  edification  of 
confirmed  behevers.  The  exceptional  miracles  were  those  of 
exorcism,  which  occupied  a  very  singular  position  in  the  early 
Church.  The  belief  that  certain  diseases  wei-e  inflicted  by 
Divine  agency  was  familiar  to  the  ancients,  but  among  the 
early  Greeks  the  notion  of  diabolical  possession  appears  to 
have  been  unknown.  A  daemon,  in  the  philosophy  of  Plato, 
though  inferior  to  a  deity,  v/as  not  an  evil  spirit,  and  it  is  ex- 
t]-emely  doubtful  whether  the  existence  of  e^'i\  daemons  was 
known  either  to  the  Greeks  or  Romans  till  about  the  time  of 
the  advent  of  Christ.'  The  belief  was  introduced  with  the 
Oriental  auperstitions  which  then  poured  into  Rome,  and  it 
brought  in  its  train  the  notions  of  possession  and  exorcism. 
The  Jews,  who  in  theii*  own  country  appear  to  have  regarded 
it  as  a  most  ordinary  occurrence  to  meet  men  walking  about 
visibly  possessed  by  devils,  and  who  professed  to  have  learnt 
from  Solomon  the  means  of  expelling  them,  soon  became  the 
princi])al  exorcists,  accomplishing  their  feats  partly  by  adju- 
ration, and  partly  by  means  of  a  certain  miraculous  root 
named  Baaras.  Josephus  assures  us  that  he  had  himself,  in 
the  reign  of  Vespasian,  seen  a  Jew  named  Eleaziir  drawbig 
by  these  means  a  dcismon  through  the  nostrils  of  a  possessed 
person,  who  fell  to  the  gi^ound  on  the  accomplishment  of  tho 
mh-acle ;    while,   upon   the  conjmand  of  the   magician,  the 


'  Pkitarch  thought  they  Avere  Miracles,  pp.  120-140;    and  Fon- 

knoAvn  by  Plato,  btit  this  opiiiioa  tenelle,  llidt,   des   Oracks,  pp.  2^. 

has  been  much  questioned.     See  a  27.   Porphyry  speaks  much  of  evil 

very  learned  discussion  on  the  sub-  dremous. 
ject   in    Farmers   DisscrUdion    on 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME. 


381 


devil,  to  prove  that  it  had  really  left  his  victim,  threw  down 
a  cup  of  water  which  had  been  placed  at  a  distance.  ^  The 
gi'owth  of  Neoplatonism  and  kindred  philosophies  greatly 
strengthened  the  belief,  aiid  some  of  the  later  philosophers, 
as  well  as  many  religious  charlatans,  practised  exorc-'sm. 
But,  of  all  classes,  the  Christians  became  in  this  j-espect  the 
most  famous.  From  the  time  of  Justin  jMartyi*,  for  about 
two  centuries,  there  is,  I  believe,  not  a  single  Christian 
wi^iter  who  does  not  solemnly  and  explicitly  assert  the  reality 
and  frequent  employment  of  this  power ;  ^  and  although,  after 
the  Council  of  Laodicea,  the  instances  became  less  numerous, 
they  by  no  means  ceased.  The  Christians  fully  recognised 
the  supernatural  power  possessed  by  the  Jewish  and  Gentile 
exorcists,  but  they  claimed  to  be  in  many  i-espects  their 
supenors.  By  the  simple  sign  of  the  cross,  or  by  repeating 
the  name  of  their  Master,  they  professed  to  be  able  to  cast 
out  devils  which  had  resisted  all  the  enchantments  of  Pasai* 


*  Jo?epliiis,  Antiq.  viii.  2,  §  5. 

"^  This  very  curious  siily'ect  is 
fully  treated  by  Baltus  (Bcponse  a 
VHistoire  des  Oracles,  Strasburg, 
1707,  published  a  lonj.Tnously  in 
reply  to  Van  Dale  and  Fonte- 
ncUe),  "v\-ho  believed  in  the  reality 
of  the  Piigan  as  well  as  the 
patristic  miracles ;  by  Bingham 
[Ant  iquitus  of  the  Chnstian  Church, 
Vol.  i.  pp.  3 i  6-324),  uho  thinks 
the  Pagan  and  Jewish  exorcists 
were  impostors,  but  not  the  Chris- 
tians ;  and  by  Middleton  {Free 
Enquiry,  pp.  80-93),  who  disbe- 
lieves in  all  the  exorcists  after  the 
apostolic  times.  It  has  also  been 
the  .sul)ject  of  a  special  contro- 
versy in  England,  carried  on  by 
UodweLL,  Ciiurch,  Farmer,  and 
.)tluTs.  Archdeacon  Church  says: 
'  If  we  cannot  vindicate  them  [the 
Fathers  of  the  first  three  centuries] 


on  this  article,  their  credit  must 
be  lost  for  ever ;  and  we  must  be 
obliged  to  decline  all  further  de- 
fence of  them.  It  is  impossible 
for  any  words  more  strongly  to  ex- 
press a  claim  to  this  miracle  than 
those  used  by  all  the  best  writers 
of  tne  second  and  third  centuries.' 
—  Vindication  of  the  Miracles  of 
the  First  Three  Centuries,  p.  199. 
So,  also,  Baltus:  'De  tous  les 
anciens  auteurs  ecclesiastiques, 
n'y  en  ayant  pas  un  qui  n'ait  parle 
de  ce  pouvoir  admirable  que  les 
Chretiens  avoient  de  chasser  les 
demons '  (p.  296).  Gregory  of 
Tours  describes  exorcism  as  suffi- 
ciently common  in  his  time,  and 
mentions  having  himself  seen  a 
monk  named  Julian  cure  by  his 
words  a  possessed  person,  [tliit, 
iv.  32.) 


382  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

exorcists,  to  silence  the  oracles,  to  compel  the  daemons  to  con- 
fess the  tiuth  of  the  Christian  faith.  Sometimes  their  power 
extended  still  further.  Daemons,  we  are  told,  were  accus- 
tomed to  enter  into  animals,  and  these  also  were  expelled  by 
the  Christian  adjuration.  St.  Jerome,  in  his  *  Life  of  St. 
ITiliirlon,'  has  given  us  a  graphic  account  of  the  courage  with 
which  that  saint  confronted,  and  the  success  wath  which 
he  relieved,  a  possessed  camel.  ^  In  the  reign  of  Julian,  the 
very  bones  of  the  maityi'  Babylas  were  sufficient  to  silence 
the  oracle  of  Daphne ;  and  when,  amid  the  triumphant 
chants  of  the  Christians,  the  relics,  by  the  command  of 
Julian,  were  removed,  the  lightning  descended  from  heaven 
and  consumed  the  temple.^  St.  Gregory  Thaumaturgus 
having  expelled  the  daemons  from  an  idol  temple,  the  priest, 
finding  his  means  of  subsistence  destroyed,  came  to  the  saint, 
imploring  him  to  permit  the  oracles  to  be  renewed.  St. 
Gregory,  who  was  then  on  his  journey,  wrote  a  note  contain- 
ing the  words '  Satan,  retiu-n,'  which  was  immediately  obeyed, 
and  the  priest,  awe-struck  by  the  miracle,  was  converted  to 
Cln-istianity.^  Tertullian,  writing  to  the  Pagans  in  a  time 
of  persecution,  in  language  of  the  most  deliberate  earnestness, 
challenges  his  opponents  to  bring  forth  any  person  who  is 

'  ViL    Hilar.     Origen    notices  report   that   the  fire   was    caused 

that  cattle  were   sometimes  pos-  accidentally  by  one  of  the  numer- 

eessed  T)y  devils.     See  Middleton  s  ons  candles  employed  in  the  cere- 

Frce  Enquiry,  pp.  88,  89.  mony.      The    people    of    Antioch 

2  Ihe  miracle   of  St.   Babylas  defied  the   emperor    by  chanting, 

is  the  subject  of  a   homily  by  St.  ns  chey  removed  the  relics,  '  Con- 

Chrysostora,    and    is    related     at  founded  be  all  they  that  trust  in 

length     by    Theodoret,    Sozomen,  graven  images.' 

ancf  Socrates.     Libanius  mentions  ^  See    tiie    Lifr.    of     Gregory/ 

that,  by  commami  of  Julian,  the  Thaiiviatmgus,     by     Gregory    of 

l.'ones    of    St.    Babylas    were    re-  Nyssa.       St.    Gregory   the   Great 

moved    from    the    temple.      The  assures    us    {Dial.    iii.     10)    that 

Christians  said  the  temple  was  de-  Sabinus,  Bishop  of  Placentia.  wrote 

stroyed  by  lightning  ;    the  Pagans  a  letter  to  the  river  Po,  which  had 

declared  it  was  burnt  by  the  Chris-  overflowed  its  banks  and   flooded 

tians,  and  Julian  ordered  measures  some   church   lands.      When    the 

of  reprisal   to    be  taken.      Amm.  letter  was  thrown  into  the  stire.irji 

Marcellinis,  however,  mentions  a  the  watffl*  at  once  subsided. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  383 

possessed  by  a  dremon  or  any  of  those  virgins  or  prophets  who 
are  supposed  to  be  inspired  by  a  divinity.  He  asserts  that, 
in  reply  to  the  interrogation  of  any  Christian,  the  daemons 
will  bo  compelled  to  confess  their  diabolical  character ;  ho 
invites  the  Pagans,  if  it  be  otherwise,  to  put  the  Christian 
immediately  to  death  ;  and  he  proposes  this  as  at  once  the 
simplest  and  most  decisive  demonstration  of  the  faith.  ^ 
Justin  Mart}T,^  Origen,^  Lactantius,"*  Athanasius,*  and 
Minucius  Felix,^  all  in  language  equally  solemn  and  explicit, 
call  upon  the  Pagans  to  form  their  opinions  from  the  con- 
fessions vv^rung  from  their  own  gods.  We  hear  from  them, 
that  when  a  Cln-istian  began  to  pi-ay,  to  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  or  to  utter  the  name  of  his  Master  in  the  presence  of  a 
possessed  or  inspired  person,  the  latter,  by  screams  and  frio"ht- 
ful  contortions,  exhibited  the  torture  that  was  inflicted,  and 
by  this  torture  the  evil  spirit  was  compelled  to  avow  its 
nature.  Several  of  the  Christian  wiiteis  declare  that  this 
was  generally  known  to  the  Pagans.  In  one  respect,  it  was 
observed,  the  miracle  of  exorcism  was  especially  available  for 
evidential  purposes  ;  for,  as  demons  would  not  expel  dajmons, 
it  was  the  only  miracle  which  was  necessari'y  divine. 

It  vrould  be  curious  to  examine  the  mamier  in  which  the 
challenge  was  i-eceived  by  the  Pagan  wi-iters ;  but  unhappily, 
the  writings  which  were  dii'ected  against  the  faith  having 
been  destroyed  Ijy  the  Christian  emperors,  our  means  of  in- 
foi-mation  on  this  point  are  very  scanty.     Some  information, 


'  '  Edatur  hie  aliquis  sub  tri-  nou  audentes,  ibidem  illius  Chris- 

bunahbusvestris,  qiiem  dasmoneagi  tiani  procaL-issimi  san<;uinem  fun- 

constet,     Juss-us  a  quolibet  Chris-  dite     Quid  isto  opere  manifest  ins  7 

tiano   loqui   spirirus   ille,    tarn   se  quid  hfec  probatione  lidelius  ? ' — 

dseraonem     confitebitur    de    vero,  Tert.  Apol.  xxiii 
quam  alibi  deum  de  iaiso.     ^que  ^  Apol.  i. ;    Tri/pho 

producitur  aliquis  ex   iis   qui   de  ^  Cont.  Ccls.  vii. 

dec    pati    existimantur,    qui    aris  ■•  Inst.  Div.  iv.  27 

inhalanles  mimen  de  uidore  conci-  *  Liff  of  Antony . 

pinnt  .  .  .  nisi   se   dsemones  con-  ^  Octmius. 

fessi   fiieriDt,    Christiano    meutiri 


384  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

however,  we  possess,  and  it  would  appear  to  show  that,  among 
the  educated  classes  at  least,  these  phenomena  did  not  extoi-t 
any  great  admiration.  The  eloquent  silence  about  dial>olif  al 
possession  observed  by  the  early  philoso])hers,  when  discussing 
such  questions  as  the  nature  of  the  soul  and  of  the  si)iiitual 
world,  decisively  show  that  in  their  time  possession  had  not 
assumed  any  gi-eat  prominence  or  acquired  any  genei-al  cie- 
dence,  Plutarch,  who  admitted  the  reality  of  evil  daemons, 
and  who  was  the  most  strenuous  defender  of  the  orac'es,  treats 
the  who.e  class  of  superstitions  to  which  exorcism  belongs 
with  much  contempt. '  Marcus  Aurelius,  in  recounting  the 
benefits  he  had  received  from  different  persons  with  whom  he 
had  been  connected,  acknowledges  his  debt  of  gratitude  to 
the  philosopher  Diognetus  for  ha\Tjig  taught  him  to  give  no 
credence  to  magicians,  jugglers,  and  expellers  of  daemons. ^ 
Lucian  declares  that  every  cunning  juggler  could  make  his 
fortune  by  going  over  to  the  Christians  and  preying  upon  their 
simplicity.^  Celsus  described  the  Chiistians  as  jugglers  per- 
forming their  tiicks  among  the  young  and  the  credulous.'* 
The  most  decisive  evidence,  however,  we  possess,  is  a  law  of 
Ulpian,  directed,  it  is  thought,  against  the  Christians,  which 
condemns  those  '  who  use  incantations  or  imprecations,  or  (to 
employ  the  common  word  of  impostors)  exorcisms.'^  Modem 
criticism  has  noted  a  few  facts  wliich  may  throw  some  light 
upon  this  obscure  subject.     It  has  been  observed  that  the 


'  Be  Superstifione.  est,    si   (ut   vulgari    vrrljo  impos- 

2  i.  6.  toruni   utor  >    exorcizavit.' — Bing- 

^  Be  Mort.  Perrgrm.  ham,  Antiq^dtUs  of  the    Christian 

•»  Origen,  Adv.   Cels.  vi.     Com-  Church  (Oxf.,  1855).  vol.  i.  p.  318. 

pare  the  curious  letter  T\-hich  Vo-  This  law  is  believed  to  have  been 

piscus  (Safurninus)   attributes    to  directed     specially     against     the 

Hadrian,  ■  Nemo  illic  [i.e.  in  Egypt]  Christians,     because    these    wore 

archisynagogTis    Judteorum,    nemo  very  prominent  as  exorcists,   and 

Samarites,     nemo     Christianorum  because  Lactantius  {Inst.  Div.  v. 

presbyter,  non  mathematicus,  non  11)  says  that  Ulpian  had  collected 

aruspex,  non  aliptes.'  the  laws  against  them. 

*  'Si  incantaAnt,  si  imprccatus 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    EOME.  385 

BVinptoms  of  possession  were  for  the  most  part  identical  with 
thase  of  lunacy  or  epi'.epsy  ;  that  it  is  quite  possible  that  the 
excitement  of  an  imposing  religious  ceremony  might  produce 
or  suspend  the  disorder  ;  that  leading  questions  might  in  these 
cases  be  followed  by  the  desii'ed  answers ;  and  that  some 
passages  from  the  Fathers  show  that  the  exorcisms  were  not 
always  successful,  or  the  cures  always  permanent.  It  has 
been  observed,  too,  that  at  first  the  power  of  exorcism  was 
open  to  all  Christians  without  restraint ;  that  this  licence,  in 
an  age  when  religious  jugglers  were  very  common,  and  in  a 
Church  whose  members  were  very  credulous,  gave  great 
facilities  to  impostors  ;  that  when  the  Laodicean  Council,  in 
the  fourth  century,  forbade  any  one  to  exorcise,  except  those 
who  wore  duly  authorised  by  the  bishop,  these  miracles 
speedily  declined  ;  and  that,  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  fifth 
century,  a  physician  named  Posidonius  denied  the  existence 
of  possession. ' 

To  sum  up  this  whole  su1)ject,  we  may  conclude  that  what 
is  called  the  evidential  system  had  no  prominent  place  in 
effecting  the  conversion  of  the  Roman  Empire.  Historical 
criticisms  were  far  too  imperfect  to  make  appeals  to  the 
mii-acles  of  former  days  of  any  value,  and  the  notion  of  the 
wide  dltTuslon  of  miraculous  or  magical  powers,  as  well  as  the 
generally  private  character  of  the  alleged  miracles  of  the 
Patristic  age,  made  contemporary  wonders  very  unimpressive. 
The  prophecies  attributed  to  the  Sibyls,  and  the  practice  of 
exorcism,  had,  however,  a  certain  weight;  for  the  fii'st  were 
conjiected  with  a  religious  authority,  long  and  deeply  revered 
at  Pome,  and  the  second  had  been  forced  by  several  circum- 
stances into  great  prominence.  But  the  effect  even  of  these 
may  be  s;ifely  regarded  as  altogether  subsidiary,  and  the  main 
causes  of  the  conversion  must  be  looked  for  in  another  and  n 
widei*  sphere. 

'  Phi!o.s!or;;ins,  Hibt.  Eocl.  viii,  10. 


386  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

These  causes  were  the  general  tendencies  of  the  ag(i. 
They  are  to  be  found  in  that  vast  movement  of  mingled 
scepticism  and  credulity,  in  that  amalgamation  or  dissohition 
of  many  creeds,  in  that  profound  transformation  of  habits,  of 
fjelings,  and  of  ideal?,  which  I  have  attempted  to  paint  in 
tbe  last  chapter.  Under  circumstances  more  favourable  to 
religious  proselytism  than  the  world  had  ever  before  knowTi. 
with  the  path  cleared  by  a  long  course  of  destructive  cri 
ticism,  the  religions  and  philosophies  of  mankind  were 
struggliaig  for  the  mastery  in  that  great  metropolis  where 
all  wero  amply  represented,  and  in  which  alone  the  destinies 
of  the  world  could  be  decided.  Among  the  educated  a  frigid 
Stoicism,  teaching  a  majestic  but  unattainable  gran<leur,  and 
scorning  the  support  of  the  affections,  the  hope  of  another 
world,  and  the  consolations  of  worship,  had  for  a  time  been  in 
the  ascendant,  and  it  only  terminated  its  noble  and  most 
fruitful  career  when  it  haa  become  manifestly  inadequate 
to  the  religious  wants  of  the  age.  Among  other  classes, 
religion  after  religion  ran  its  conquering  course.  The  Jews, 
although  a  number  of  causes  had  made  them  the  most  hated 
of  all  the  Roman  subjects,  and  although  their  religion,  from 
its  intensely  national  character,  seemed  peculiarly  unsuited 
for  proselytism,  had  yet,  by  the  force  of  their  monotheism, 
their  charity,  and  theii'  exorcisms,  spread  the  creed  of  Moses 
far  and  wide.  The  Empress  Popp?ea  is  said  to  have  been  a 
proselyte.  The  passion  of  Roman  women  for  Jewish  lites 
was  one  of  the  complaints  of  Juvenal.  The  Sabbath  and  the 
Jewish  fasts  became  familiar  facts  in  all  tbe  gi^eat  cities,  and 
the  antiquity  of  the  Jewish  law  the  subject  of  eager  discus 
sion.  Other  Ojiental  religions  were  even  more  successful. 
1'he  worship  of  Mithra,  and,  above  all,  of  the  Egyptian 
divinities,  attracted  their  thousands,  and  during  more  than 
three  centuries  the  Roman  writings  are  crowded  with  allu- 
sions to  their  progress.    The  mysteries  of  the  Bona  Dca,'  the 


See  Juvenal.  Sat.  vi.  31-i-33o. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    EOME.  387 

solemn  worsliip  of  Isis,  the  expiatory  rites  tliat  cleansed  the 
guilty  soul,  excited  a  very  delirium  of  enthusiasm.  Juvenal 
describes  the  Eoman  women,  at  the  dawn  of  the  winter  day, 
breaking  the  ice  of  tlie  Tiber  to  plunge  three  times  into  its 
fiacred  stream,  dragging  themselves  on  bleeding  knees  in 
penance  around  the  field  of  Tarquin,  offering  to  undertake 
pilgrimages  to  Egypt  to  seek  the  holy  water  for  the  shrine  of 
Isis,  fondly  dreaming  that  they  had  heard  the  voice  of  the 
goddess.  •  Apuleius  has  drawn  a  gi-aphic  picture  of  the  solemn 
majesty  of  her  processions,  and  the  spell  they  cast  upon  the 
most  licentious  and  the  most  sceptical. ^  Commodus,  Caracalla, 
and  iHeliogabalus  were  passionately  devoted  to  them.^  The 
temples  of  Isis  and  Serapis,  and  the  statues  of  iMithra,  are 
among  the  last  prominent  works  of  iRoman  ai-t.  In  all  other 
forms  the  same  credulity  was  manifested.  The  oracles  that 
had  been  silent  were  heard  again ;  the  astrologers  swarmed 
in  every  city;  the  philosophers  were  surrounded  with  an 
atmosphere  of  legend;  the  Pythagorean  school  had  raised 
credulity  into  a  system.  On  all  sides,  and  to  a  degree  un- 
paralleled in  history,  we  find  men  who  were  no  longer 
satisfied  with  their  old  local  religion,  thirsting  for  belief, 
passionately  and  restlessly  seeking  for  a  new  faith. 

In  the  midst  of  this  movement,  Christianity  gained  its 
ascendancy,  and  we  can  be  at  no  loss  to  discover  the  cause  of 
its  triumph.  No  other  religion,  under  such  circumstances, 
liad  ever  combined  so  many  distinct  elements  of  power  and 
attraction.  Unlike  the  Jewish  religion,  it  was  bound  by  no 
local  ties,  and  was  equally  adapted  for  every  nation  and  for 
every  class.  Unlike  Stoicism,  it  appealed  in  the  strongest 
manner  to  the  afiections,  and  ofiered  all  the  charm  of  a  sym- 
pathetic worship.  Unlike  the  Egyptian  religions,  it  united 
with    its  distinctive  teaching  a  pure  and  noble  system  of 


See  Juvenal,  Sat.  vi.  o20-530.  '  See  their  Lives,   by  I^ampr:- 

*  Metamorphoses,  book  x.  dius  and  Spartianus. 


3S8  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

ethics,  and  proved  itself  capable  of  realising  it  in  action.  It 
proclaimed,  amid  a  vast  movement  of  social  and  national 
amalgamation,  Mie  universal  brotherhood  of  mankind.  Amid 
the  softening  influence  of  philosophy  and  civilisation,  it 
taught  the  supreme  sanctit :  of  love.  To  the  slave,  who  had 
nt  ver  before  exercised  so  large  an  influence  over  Roman  reli- 
gious life,  it  vras  tLe  religion  of  the  suffering  and  the  op- 
pressed. To  the  philosopher  it  was  at  once  the  echo  of  the 
highest  ethics  of  the  later  Stoics,  and  the  expansion  of  the 
best  teaching  of  the  school  of  Plato.  To  a  world  thirsting 
for  prodigy,  it  oflered  a  history  replete  with  wonders  more 
strange  that  those  of  Apollonius ;  while  the  Jew  and  the 
Chaklean  could  scarcely  rival  its  exorcists,  and  the  legends  of 
continual  mii-acles  circulated  among  its  followers.  To  a 
world  deeply  conscious  of  political  dissolution,  ana  prying 
eagerly  and  anxiously  into  the  future,  it  proclaimed  with  a 
thrilJing  power  the  immediate  destruction  of  the  globe — the 
glory  of  all  its  friends,  and  the  damnation  of  all  its  foes.  To 
a  world  that  had  grown  very  weary  gaziiig  on  the  cold  and 
passionless  grandeur  which  Cato  realised,  and  which  Lucan 
sung,  it  presented  an  ideal  of  comi)assion  and  of  love — a 
Teacher  who  could  weep  by  the  sepulchre  of  His  fr.end,  who 
was  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmities.  To  a  world, 
in  fine,  distracted  by  hostile  creeds  and  colliding  philosophies, 
it  taught  its  doctrines,  not  as  a  human  speculation,  but  as  a 
Divine  revelation,  authenticated  much  less  by  reason  than 
by  faith.  '  With  the  heart  man  believeth  unto  righteous- 
ness;'  '  He  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Father  will  know  the 
doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God ; '  '  Unless  you  believe  you 
cannot  understand  ; '  'A  heart  naturally  Christian  ; '  'The 
heart  makes  the  theologian,'  are  the  phrases  which  best  ex- 
pi-ess  the  first  action  of  Christianity  upon  the  world.  Like 
all  great  religions,  it  was  more  concerned  with  modes  of 
feeling  than  w^ith  modes  of  thought.  The  chief  cause  of  iti 
success  was  the  congruity  of  its  teaching  with  the  spiritual 


THE    CONYERSION    OF    ROME.  389 

nature  of  mankind.  It  was  because  it  was  ti-ue  to  the  moral 
sentiments  of  the  age,  because  it  represented  faitlifuUy  the 
supreme  type  of  excellence  to  which  men  were  then  tending, 
because  it  corresponded  with  their  religious  wants,  aims,  an<l 
emotions,  because  the  whole  spiritual  being  could  then  ex- 
pand and  expatiate  under  its  influence,  that  it  planted  its 
roots  so  deeply  in  the  hearts  of  men. 

To  all  these  elements  of  attraction,  others  of  a  dilTcvent 
order  must  be  adckd.  Christianity  was  not  merely  a  moral 
influence,  or  a  system  of  opinions,  or  an  historical  record,  or 
a  collection  of  wonder-working  men ;  it  was  also  an  insti- 
tution definitely,  elaborately,  and  skilfully  organised,  possess- 
ing a  weight  and  a  stability  which  isolated  or  andiscipliaed 
teachers  could  never  rival,  and  evoking,  to  a  degree  before 
unexampled  in  the  world,  an  enthusiastic  devotion  to  its 
corporate  welfare,  analogous  to  that  of  the  patriot  to  his 
country.  The  many  forms  of  Pagan  worship  were  pliant  in 
their  nature.  Each  oflTered  cei-tain  advantages  or  spiritual 
gratifications ;  but  there  was  no  reason  why  all  should  not 
exist  together,  and  participation  in  one  by  no  means  implied 
disrespect  to  the  others.  Bat  Christianity  was  emphatically 
exclusive ;  its  adherent  was  bound  to  detest  and  abjure  the 
faiths  around  him  as  the  workmanship  of  daemons,  and  to 
consider  himself  placed  in  the  world  to  destroy  them.  Hence 
there  sprang  a  stern,  aggressive,  and  at  the  same  time  dis- 
ciplined enthusiasm,  wholly  unlike  any  other  that  had  been 
witnessed  upon  earth.  The  duties  of  public  worship ;  the 
sacraments,  which  were  represented  as  the  oaths  of  the 
Christian  warrior  ;  the  f:ists  and  penances  and  commemorative 
days,  which  strengthened  the  Church  feeling ;  the  interven- 
tion of  religion  in  the  most  solemn  epochs  of  life,  cons2:)ired 
to  sustaiQ  it.  Above  all,  the  doctrine  of  salvation  by  belief, 
which  then  for  the  first  time  flashed  upon  the  world  ;  the 
pertiT'.asion,  realised  with  all  the  vividness  of  nove'.ty,  that 
Chiiitiunity  opened  out   to   its  votaries  eternal    happiness, 


390  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

wMle  all  beyond  its  pale  were  doomed  to  an  eternit)'  of 
torture,  supplied  a  motive  of  action  as  powerful  as  it  is  per- 
haps possible  to  conceive.  It  struck  alike  the  coarsest  chords 
of  hope  and  fear,  and  the  finest  chords  of  compassion  and 
love.  The  polytheist,  admitting  that  Christianity  miglil 
possibly  be  true,  was  led  by  a  mere  calculation  of  prudence 
to  embrace  it,  and  the  fervent  Christian  would  shrink  from 
no  suffering  to  draw  those  whom  he  loved  within  its  pale. 
Nor  w^ere  other  inducements  wanting.  To  the  confessor  was 
granted  in  the  Church  a  great  and  venerable  authority,  such 
as  the  bishop  could  scarcely  claim. '  To  the  martyr,  besides 
the  fruition  of  heaven,  belonged  the  highest  glory  on  earth. 
By  winning  that  bloodstained  crown,  the  meanest  Christian 
slave  migljt  gain  a  reputation  as  glorious  as  that  of  a  Decius 
or  a  Kegulus.  His  body  was  laid  to  rest  with  a  sumptuous 
splendour; 2  his  relics,  embalmed  or  shrined,  were  venerated 
with  an  almost  idolatrous  homage.  The  annivei*sary  of  his 
birth  into  another  life  was  commemorated  in  the  Church, 
and  before  the  great  assembly  of  the  saints  his  heroic  suffer- 
ings were  recounted.^  How,  indeed,  should  he  not  be  envied  ? 
He  had  passed  away  into  eternal  bliss.  He  had  left  upon 
earth  an  abiding  name.  By  the  '  baptism  of  blood '  the  sins 
of  a  life  had  been  in  a  moment  effaced. 

Those  who  are  accustomed  to  recognise  heroic  enthusiasm 
as  a  normal  product  of  certain  natural  conditions,  will  have 
no  difficulty  in  understandiug  that,  under  such  circumstances 


*  The     conflict     between      St.  quam  diis  fumigandis.' — Ajyol.  42. 

Cyprian  and   the  confessors,   con-  Sometimes  the   Pagans  burnt  the 

cerning    the   po'wer   of   remitting  bodies  of  the  martyrs,  in  order  to 

penances   claimed    by    the   latter,  preA^eut   the  Christians  venerating 

though  it  ended  in  the  defeat  of  their  relics. 

the  confessors,  i-hu-u-s   clearly  the  '^  Many  interesting   particiJars 

influence  they  had  obtained.  about  these  commem  rative  festi- 

■^  '  Thura  plane  non  emimus ;  ei  vals  are  collected  in  Cave's  Primi- 

Arabise    quemntur    scient    Sabsei  tive  Christianity,  part  i.  c.  vii.  Th« 

plnris    et    carioris     suas     merces  anniversaries  were  called '  Natalia, 

Chrifltianis    sepeliendis    profligari  or  birth-days. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  391 

&s  1  have  described,  a  transcendent  courage  should  liavc  beeu 
evoked.  Men  seemed  indeed  to  be  in  love  with  death.  Be- 
lieving, with  St.  Ignatius,  that  they  were  '  the  wheat  of 
God,'  they  panted  for  the  day  when  they  should  be  '  ground 
by  the  teeth  of  wild  beasts  into  the  pure  bread  of  Christ ! ' 
Beneath  this  one  burning  enthusiasm  all  the  ties  of  eai-thly 
love  were  siiapt  in  twain  Origen,  when  a  boy,  being  re- 
strained by  force  from  going  forth  to  deliver  hiniself  up  to 
the  persecutors,  wrote  to  his  imprisoned  father,  imploring 
him  not  to  let  any  thought  of  his  family  intervene  to  quench 
his  resolution  or  to  deter  him  from  sealing  his  faith  with 
his  blood.  St.  Perpetua,  an  ony  daughter,  a  young  mother 
of  twenty-two,  had  embraced  the  Christian  creed,  confessed 
it  before  her  judges,  and  declared  herself  ready  to  endure 
for  it  the  martyr's  death.  Again  and  again  her  father  came 
to  her  in  a  paroxysm  of  acjony,  entreating  hei"  not  to  deprive 
him  of  the  joy  and  the  consolation  of  his  closing  years. 
He  appealed  to  lier  by  the  memory  of  all  the  tenderness 
he  had  lavished  upon  hei-  —  by  her  infant  child  —  by  his 
own  gray  haii's,  that  were  soon  to  be  brought  down  in 
sorrow  to  the  grave.  Forgetting  in  his  deep  anguish  all 
the  dignity  of  a  parent,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  before  his 
child,  covered  her  hands  with  kisses,  and,  with  tears  stream- 
ing from  his  eyes,  imploi-ed  her  to  have  mercy  upon  him. 
But  she  w-as  unshaken  though  not  untouched  ;  she  saw  her 
father,  frenzied  with  grief,  dragged  from  before  the  tribunal ; 
she  saw  him  tearing  his  white  beard,  and  lying  prostrate  and 
broken-hearted  on  the  prison  floor ;  she  went  forth  to  die  for 
a  faith  she  loved  more  dearly — for  a  faith  that  told  her  that 
her  father  would  be  lost  for  ever.^  The  desire  for  martyrdom 
bocame  at  times  a  form  of  absolute  madness,  a  kind  of  epi- 
demic of  suicide,  and  the  leading  minds  of  the  Church  found  it 
necessary  to  exert  all  their  authority  to  prevent  theii"  follower* 


See  her  acts  in  Ruinart. 


592  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAL?. 

from  tliriisting  themselves  into  the  bands  of  the  pei  seen  tors.' 
Tertiilliau  mentions  how,  in  a  little  Asiatic  town,  the  entire 
population  once  Hocked  to  the  proconsul,  declaring  themselves 
to  ie  ChriJitians,  and  imploring  him  to  execute  the  decree  of 
the  emperor  and  gi-ant  them  the  privilege  of  martyrdom. 
The  bewildei-ed  functionary  asked  them  whether,  if  they  wero 
so  weary  of  life,  there  were  no  precipices  or  ropes  by  which 
they  could  end  their  days ;  and  he  put  to  death  a  small  num- 
ber of  the  suppliants,  and  dismissed  the  others.^  Two  illus- 
trious Pagan  moralists  and  one  profane  Pagan  satirist  have 
noticed  this  passion  with  a  most  unpleasing  scorn.  '  There 
are  some,'  said  Epictetus,  '  whom  madness,  there  are  others, 
like  the  Galilseans,  whom  custom,  makes  indifferent  to 
death.' ^  'What  mind,'  said  Marcus  Aurelius,  '  is  prepared, 
if  need  be,  to  go  forth  from  the  body,  whether  it  be  to  be 
extinguished,  or  to  be  dispersed,  or  to  endure  ? — prepared  by 
deliberate  reflection,  and  not  by  pure  obstinacy,  as  is  the 
custom  of  the  Christians.''*  '  These  wret^-hes,'  said  Lucian, 
speaking  of  the  Christians,  '  persr.ade  themselves  that  they 
are  going  to  be  altogether  immortal,  and  to  live  for  ever; 
wherefore  they  despise  death,  and  many  of  theii'  own  accord 
give  themselves  up  to  be  slain.'  ^ 

'  1  send  against  you  men  whc  are  as  gi'eedy  of  death  as 
you  are  of  pleasures,'  were  the  words  wliich,  in  after  days,  the 


»  St.  Clera.  Alex.  Strom,  iv.  10.  then  '  longed  for  death  as  they  now 

There  are  other  passaj,es  of   the  long    for   bishoprics.'     '  C 'gi    qui 

same  kind  in  other  Fathers.  potest,  nescit  mori,'  \ras  the  noble 

-AdScapnl.v.  Eusehius {Martyrs  maxim  of  the  Christians. 
of  Palestine,  ch.  iii.)  has  given  a  (Je-  ^  Arr  an,  iv.  7.    It  is  not  certain, 

tailed  accoiujt  of  six  young  men,  however,  that  this  passage  alludes 

who  in  the  very  height  of  the  Ga-  to  the  Christians.     The  followers 

lerian  persecution,  at  a  time  when  of    Judas  of  Galilee   were   called 

the  most  hideous  tortures  were  ap-  Galila^ans.  and  they  were  famous 

plied  to  the  Chrisrians,  voluntarily  f  r  their  indifference  to  death.    See 

gave  themselves  up  as  believer.s.  Josepli.  Antiq.  xviii.  1. 
Su!p.  Severus  {Hist.  ii.  32),  speak-  •*  xi.  3. 

ing  of  the  voluntary  martyrs  under  *  Peregrinus. 

Diocletian,   says    that    Christians 


THE    CO.NVEIISION    OF    ROME.  393 

Moliametan  chief  addressed  to  the  degenerate  Christians  of 
Syria,  and  which  were  at  once  the  presage  and  the  ex- 
planation of  his  triumph.  Such  words  might  with  equal 
propriety  have  been  employed  by  the  early  Christian  leaders 
to  their  Pagan  adversaries.  The  zeal  of  the  Christians  and 
of  the  Pagans  differed  alike  in  degree  and  in  kind.  When 
Constantino  made  Chiistianity  the  i-eligion  of  the  State,  it  is 
probable  that  its  adherents  were  but  a  minority  in  Pome. 
Even  in  the  days  of  Theodosius  the  senate  was  still  wedded 
to  Paganism ;  ^  yet  the  measures  of  Constantine  were  ))oth 
natural  and  necessaiy.  The  majority  were  without  in- 
llexib'e  belief,  without  moral  enthusiasm,  without  definite 
organisation,  without  any  of  those  principles  that  inspire  the 
heroism  either  of  resistance  or  aggression.  The  minority 
formed  a  serried  phalanx,  animated  by  every  motive  that 
could  purify,  discipline,  and  sustain  their  zeal.  "When  once 
the  Christians  had  acquired  a  considerable  position,  the 
question  of  theii^  destiny  was  a  simple  one.  They  must  either 
be  crushed  or  they  must  reign.  The  ft^ilure  of  the  per- 
secution of  Diocletian  conducted  them  inevitably  to  the 
throne. 

It  may  indeed  be  confidently  asserted  that  the  conversion 
of  the  Poman  Empii-e  is  so  far  from  being  of  the  natiu-e  of  a 
miracle  or  suspension  of  the  ordinary  principles  of  human 
nature,  that  there  is  scarcely  any  other  great  movement  on 
record  in  which  the  causes  and  eflfects  so  manifestly  correspond. 
The  appai-eiit  anomalies  of  history  are  not  inconsiderable,  but 
they  must  be  sought  for  in  other  quarters.  Tha.t  within  the 
narrow  limits  and  scanty  population  of  the  Greek  States 
should  have  ari:-  en  men  who,  in  almost  every  conceivable  form 
of  genius,  in  philosophy,  in  epic,  di-amatic  and  lyric  poetry, 
in  written  and  spoken  eloquence,  in  statesmanship,  in  sculp- 
tm^e,  in  painting,  and  probably  also  in  music,  should  have 

'  Zosimns, 

27 


394  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

attained  almost  or  altogether  tlie  highest  limits  of  human 
pej  fection — that  the  creed  of  Mohamet  should  have  preserved 
its  piu-e  monotheism  and  its  freedom  from  all  idolatrous 
tendencies,  when  adopted  by  vast  populations  in  that  in- 
tellectual condition  in  which,  under  all  other  creeds,  a  gross  and 
material  worship  has  proved  inevitable,  both  these  are  facts 
\A^liicli  we  can  only  very  imperfectly  explabi.  Considerations 
of  climate,  and  still  more  of  political,  social,  and  intellectual 
customs  and  institutions,  ma,y  palliate  the  first  difficulty,  and 
the  attitude  Mohamet  assumed  to  art  may  supply  us  with  a 
partial  explanation  of  the  second  ;  but  I  suppose  that,  after 
all  has  been  said,  most  persons  will  feel  that  they  are  in 
presence  of  phenoiaena  very  exceptional  and  astonishing. 
The  first  rise  of  Cluistianity  in  Judaea  is  a  subject  wholly 
apai-t  from  this  book.  We  are  examining  only  the  subsequent 
movement  in  the  Roman  Empire.  Of  this  movement  it  may 
be  boldly  asserted  that  the  assumption  of  a  moral  or  in- 
tellectual miracle  is  atterly  gratuitous.  Kever  before  was  a 
religious  transformation  so  manifestly  inevitable.  ISTo  other 
religion  ever  combined  so  many  forms  of  attraction  as 
Christianity,  both  from  its  intrinsic  excellence,  and  from  its 
manifest  adaptation  to  the  special  wants  of  the  time.  One 
great  cause  of  its  success  was  that  it  produced  more  heroic 
actions  and  formed  more  upright  men  than  any  other  creed  ; 
but  that  it  should  do  so  was  precisely  what  might  have  be^n 
expected. 

To  these  reasonings,  however,  tho?e  who  maintain  that 
the  triumph  of  Christianity  in  Rome  is  natm-ally  inexplicable, 
reply  by  pointiag  to  the  persecutions  which  Christianity  had 
to  encounter.  As  this  subject  is  one  on  which  many  mia- 
conceptions  exist,  and  as  it  is  of  extreme  importance  on 
account  of  its  connection  with  later  persecutions,  it  will  be 
necessary  briedy  to  discuss  it. 

It  is  manifest  that  the  reasons  that  may  induce  a  ruler  to 
suppress  by  force  some  forms  of  religious  worship  or  opioiou^ 


THE    CO^VEKSION    OF    ROME.  395 

are  very  various.  He  may  do  so  on  moral  grounds,  because 
they  directly  or  indii'ectly  produce  immorality ;  or  on  religious 
grounds,  because  he  belie^'es  them  to  be  offensive  to  the 
Deity ;  or  oq  political  grounds,  because  they  are  injuiioug: 
eitlier  to  the  State  or  to  the  Govei-nment ;  or  on  coiimpt 
gi'ounds,  because  he  desires  to  gratify  some  vindictive  or 
a\'aricious  passion.  From  the  simple  fact,  therefore,  of  a 
religious  persecution  we  cannot  at  once  infer  the  principles 
of  the  persecutor,  but  must  examine  in  detail  by  which  of  the 
above  motives,  or  by  what  combination  of  them,  he  has  been 
actuated. 

Now,  the  persecution  wliich  has  taken  place  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  the  Christian  priests  differs  in  some  respects  broadly 
from  all  others.  It  has  been  far  more  sustiiined,  systematic. 
and  unflinching.  It  has  been  directed  not  merely  a,!:^aiust 
acts  of  worship,  but  also  against  speculative  opinions.  It  lias 
been  supported  not  merely  as  a  right,  but  also  as  a  duty.  It 
has  been  advocated  in  a  whole  literatiu-e  of  theology,  by  the 
classes  that  are  especially  devout,  and  by  the  most  opposing 
sects,  and  it  has  invariably  declined  in  conjunction  with  a 
large  portion  of  theological  dogmas. 

I  have  elsewhere  examined  in  great  detail  the  history  of 
persecutions  by  Christians,  and  have  endeavoured  to  show 
that,  while  exceptional  causes  have  undoubted'y  occasionally 
occuiTed,  they  were,  in  the  overwhelming  majority  of  cases, 
simply  the  natural,  legitimate,  and  inevitable  consequence  of 
a  certain  portion  of  the  received  theo'ogy.  That  portion  is  the 
doctrine  that  correct  theological  opinions  are  essential  to 
salvation,  and  that  theological  error  necessarily  involves 
guilt.  To  these  two  opinions  may  be  distinctly  traced 
almost  all  the  sufferings  that  Christian  persecutors  have 
caused,  almost  all  the  obstructions  they  have  thrown  in  the 
path  of  human  progress  ;  and  those  sufferings  have  been  so 
grievous  that  it  may  be  reasonably  questioned  whether 
superstition  has  not  often  proved  a  gi'eater  curse  than  %dce, 


596  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

and  thai  obstruction  was  so  pei'tinacious,  that  tlie  cantractiori 
of  theological  influence  has  been  at  once  the  best  measnro, 
and  the  essential  condition  of  intellectual  advance.  The 
notion  that  he  might  himse'f  be  possiVy  mistaken  in  his 
opinions,  which  alone  could  cause  a  man  who  was  tnoroughly 
imbued  with  these  principles  to  shiink  from  persecriting,  was 
excluded  by  the  theological  A-irtue  of  faith,  which,  whatever 
else  it  might  involve,  implied  at  least  an  absolute  unbroken 
certainty,  and  led  the  devotee  to  regard  all  cuaibt,  and 
therefore  all  action  based  upon  doubt,  as  sin. 

To  this  general  ca,use  of  Chiistian  pei-secutiou  I  have 
shown  that  two  subsidiary  influences  may  be  joined.  A  large 
portion  of  theological  ethics  was  derived  fi-om  writings  in 
which  religious  massacres,  on  the  whole  the  most  ruthless 
and  sanguinary  upon  record,  were  said  to  have  been  dii-ectly 
enjoined  by  the  Deity,  in  which  the  duty  of  suppressing 
idolatry  by  force  was  given  a  gi-eater  prominence  than  any 
ai-ticle  of  the  moral  code,  and  in  which  the  spiiit  of  intolerance 
has  found  its  most  eloquent  and  most  passionate  expressions.  ^ 
Besides  this,  the  destiny  theologians  represented  as  awaiting 
the  misbeliever  was  so  ghast'y  and  so  appalling  as  to  render 
it  almost  childish  to  lay  any  stress  upon  the  earthly  suiferuig 
that  might  be  inflicted  in  the  extirpation  of  error. 

That  these  are  the  true  causes  of  the  great  bulk  of 
Christian  persecution,  I  believe  to  be  one  of  the  most  certain 
as  well  as  one  of  the  most  important  facts  in  history.  For 
the  detailed  proof  I  can  only  refer  to  what  I  have  elsewhere 
\\T.itten  ;  but  I  may  here  notice  that  that  proof  combines 
everv  conceivable  kind  of  evidence  that  in  such  a  question 
can  be  dema,nded.  It  can  be  shown  that  these  principles 
would  naturally  lead  men  to  persecute.  It  can  be  shown 
tliat  from  the  time  of  Constantine  to  the  time  when  the 


*  'Do  I  not  hate  them,  0  Lord,  that  hatf  thee? — yea,  I  hate  them 
with  a  perfect  hatred.' 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    KOME.  397 

rationalistic  spii'it  wrested  the  bloodstained  swoi-d  from  the 
priestly  hand,  persecution  was  uniformly  defended  upon 
them — defended  in  long,  learned,  and  elaborate  treatises,  by 
the  best  and  gi-eatest  men  the  Church  had  produced,  by  sec  tfe 
that  differed  on  almost  all  other  points,  by  multitudes  who 
proved  in  every  conceivable  manner  the  puiity  of  their  zeaL 
1 1  can  be  shown,  too,  that  toleration  began  with  the  distinction 
between  fundamental  and  non-fundamental  doctrines,  ex- 
panded in  exact  proportion  to  the  growing  latitudinarianism, 
and  triumphed  only  when  indifferencs  to  dogma  had  become 
a  })revai  ing  sentiment  among  legislators.  It  was  onl  /  when 
the  battle  had  been  won — when  the  anti-dogmatic  party, 
acting  in  opposition  to  the  Church,  had  rendered  persecution 
impossible  -that  the  great  body  of  theologians  revised  their 
arguments,  and  discovered  that  to  punish  men  for  their 
opinions  was  wholly  at  variance  with  theii'  faith.  With  the 
merits  of  this  pleasing  though  somewhat  tardy  conversion  I 
am  not  now  concerned ;  but  few  persons,  I  think,  can  follow 
the  history  of  Christian  peisecution  without  a  feeling  of 
extreme  astonishment  that  some  modern  writers,  not  content 
with  maintaining  that  the  doctrine  of  exclusive  salvation 
ougJit  not  to  have  produced  persecution,  have  ventured,  in 
defiance  of  the  unanimous  testimony  of  the  theologians  of  so 
Diany  centuries,  to  dispute  the  plain  historical  fact  that  it  did 
produce  it.  They  argue  that  the  Pagans,  who  did  not  believe 
in  exclusive  salvation,  pei-secuted,  and  that  therefore  that 
doctrine  cannot  be  the  cause  of  persecution.  The  answer  is 
that  no  sane  man  ever  maintained  that  all  the  persecutions 
on  record  were  from  the  same  source.  We  can  prove  by  the 
clearest  evidence  that  Christian  persecutions  sprang  chiefly 
from  the  causes  T  have  alleged.  The  causes  of  Pagan  perse- 
cutions, though  different,  are  equally  manifest,  and  1  shall 
proceed  shortly  to  indicate  them. 

Tiiey  were  partly  political  and    partly  religious.       Tlie 
Governments  in   most  of  the  ancient  States,  in  the  earliei 


398  HISTOEY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS, 

3tages  of  theii'  existence,  iindertook  the  complete  educatioD 
of  tlie  people ;  professed  to  control  and  regulate  all  the  detail3 
of  theii'  social  life,  even  to  the  dresses  they  wore,  or  the 
dishes  that  were  served  upon  theii-  tables;  and,  in  a  word,  to 
mould  theii-  whole  lives  and  characters  into  a  uniform  type. 
IJence,  all  organisa,tions  a,nd  corporations  not  connected  with 
the  State,  and  especially  all  that  emanated  from  foreign 
countries,  were  looked  upon  with  distrust  or  antipathy.  But 
this  antipathy  was  gi-eatly  strengthened  by  a  religious  con- 
sideration. No  belief  wa,s  more  deeply  rooted  in  the  ancient 
mind  than  tha.t  good  or  bad  fortime  sprang  from  the  inter- 
vention of  spiiitual  beings,  and  that  to  neglect  the  sacred 
rites  was  to  bring  down  calamity  upon  the  city.  In  the 
diminutive  Greek  States,  where  the  function  of  the  Govern- 
ment was  immensely  enlarged,  a  strong  intolerance  existed, 
which  extended  for  some  time  not  merely  to  practices,  but  to 
writings  and  discourses.  The  well-linown  persecutions  of 
Anaxagoras,  TheodoriLS,  Diagoras,  Stilpo,  and  Socrates  ;  the 
laws  of  Plato,  which  were  as  opposed  to  religious  as  to  domestic 
freedom ;  and  the  existence  in  Athens  of  an  inquisitorial 
tribunal,'  sufficiently  attested  it.  But  long  before  the  final 
ruin  of  Greece,  speculative  liberty  had  been  fully  attained. 
The  Epicui-ean  and  the  Sceptical  schools  developed  unmolested, 
and  even  in  the  days  of  Socrates,  Aristophanes  was  able  to 
ridicule  the  gods  upon  the  stage. 

In  the  earlier  days  of  Bome  religion  was  looked  upon  as 
a  function  of  the  State ;  its  cliief  object  was  to  make  the  gods 
auspicious  to  the  national  policy,^  and  its  principal  ceremonies 
were  performed  at  the  dii-ect  command  of  the  Senate.  The 
iialional  theory  on  religious  matters  was  that  the  best  religion 

*  See  Kenan's  Aputi-es,  p.  314.  — Hist,  des  Trois  jremiers  Sleclcs, 

*M.   Pressense  very  truly  says  tome  i.  p.  192.     Montesquieu  has 

f.f  the  Komans,  '  Leur  religion  et<iit  written  an  interesting  essay  on  the 

essentiellement    un   art — lait    de  political  nature  of  the  Reman  ra 

decouvrir  les  desseins  des  dieux  et  ligion. 

d'agir  sur  eux  par  des  rites  var  es.' 


THE    CONYERSION    OF    EOME.  399 

is  always  that  of  a  man's  own  country.  At  the  same  time, 
the  widest  tolerance  was  gi-anted  to  the  religions  of  conquered 
nations.  The  temples  of  every  god  were  respected  by  the 
Roman  army.  Before  besieging  a  city,  the  Eomans  were 
accustomed  to  supplica,te  the  presiding  deities  of  that  city. 
With  the  single  exception  of  the  Druids,  whose  human  sacri- 
fices it  was  thought  a  matter  of  humanity  to  suppress,'  and 
whose  fierce  rebellions  it  was  thought  necessary  to  crush,  the 
teachers  of  all  national  religions  continued  unmolested  by  the 
conqueror. 

This  policy,  however,  applied  specially  to  religions  rites 
practised  in  the  countries  in  which  they  were  indigenous. 
The  liberty  to  be  gi-anted  to  the  vast  continence  of  strangers 
attracted  to  Italy  during  the  Empii^e  was  another  question. 
In  the  old  Republican  days,  when  the  censors  regulated  with 
the  most  despotic  authority  the  minutest  aflairs  of  life,  and 
when  the  national  religion  was  interwoven  with  eveiy  detail 
of  political  and  even  domestic  transactions,  but  little  liberty 
could  be  expected.  When  Carneades  endeavoured  to  inculcate 
his  imiversal  scepticism  upon  the  Romans,  by  arguing  alter- 
nately for  and  against  the  same  proposition,  Cato  immediately 
urged  the  Senate  to  expel  him  fi'om  the  city,  lest  the  people 
should  be  corrupted  by  his  teaching. ^  For  a  similar  reason 
all  rhetoricians  had  been  banished  from  the  Republic,^  The 
most  remarkable,  however,  and  at  the  same  time  the  ex- 
treme expression  of  Roman  intolerance  that  has  descended 
to  us,  is  the  advice  which  Maecenas  is  represented  as  having 
given  to  Octavius  Caesar,  before  his  accession  to  the  throne. 
*  Always,'  he  said,  '  and  everywhere,  worship  the  gods  accoi'd- 
ing  to  the  rites  of  your  country,  and  compel  others  to  the 
same  worship.     Pui-sue  with  your  hatred  and  with  punish- 


'  Sue  ton.  Claud,  xxv.  pear,  from  this  last  nuthority,  that 

^  Vim.  Hist.  Nat.  \\\.  Z\.  tlie    rheioricians   were    twice   ex« 

'  Tacit.   De    Orat.   xxxv. ;   Aiil.  palled. 
G^W.lsoct.  XV.  11.     It  would  ap- 


iOO  HISTORl    OF    EUROPEAN    MORAL?. 

ments  tnose  who  introduce  foreign  religions,  not  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  gods — the  despisers  of  whom  can  assm-edly  never 
do  anything  great — but  also  because  they  who  introduce  new 
di\dnities  entice  many  to  use  foreign  laws.  Hence  arise  con- 
spii-acies,  societies,  and  assemblies,  things  very  unsuited  to 
an  homogeneous  empii^e.  Tolerate  no  despiser  of  the  gods, 
and  no  religious  juggler.  Divination  is  necessary,  and  there- 
fore let  the  aruspices  and  augurs  by  all  means  be  sustained, 
and  let  those  who  will,  consult  them ;  but  the  magicians  must 
be  utterly  prohibited,  who,  though  they  sometimes  tell'  the 
truth,  more  frequently,  by  false  promises,  urge  men  on  to 
conspii-acies.'  ^ 

This  striking  passage  exhibits  very  clearly  the  extent  to 
which  in  some  minds  the  intolerant  spirit  was  carried  in 
antiquity,  and  also  the  blending  motives  that  produced  it. 
We  should  be,  however,  widely  mistaken  if  we  regarded  it  as 
a  picture  of  the  actual  religious  policy  of  the  Empii-e.  In 
order  to  realise  this,  it  will  be  necessary  to  notice  separately 
liberty  of  speculation  and  liberty  of  worship. 

When  Asinius  Pollio  founded  the  first  public  library  in 
Rome,  he  placed  it  in  the  Temple  of  Liberty.  The  lesson 
which  was  thus  taught  to  the  literary  classes  was  never  for- 
gotten. It  is  probable  that  in  no  other  peiiod  of  the  history 
of  the  world  was  speculative  freedom  so  perfect  as  in  the 
Roman  Empii-e.  The  fearless  scrutiny  of  all  notions  of 
popular  belief,  displayed  in  the  writings  of  Cicero,  Seneca, 
Lucretius,  or  Lucian,  did  not  excite  an  effort  of  repression. 
Philosophers  were,  indeed,  })ersecuted  by  Domitian  and  Ves- 
pasian for  their  ardent  opposition  to  the  despotism  of  the 
throne,-  but  on  their  own  subjects  they  were  wholly  untram- 


'  Dion  C-issius,  lii.   36.     Most  ^  Qn  thf  hostility  of  Vespasian 

historians  believe  that  tbis  speerh  to  philosophers,  see  Xi  hilin,  Ixvi. 

represents  the  opinions,  not  of  the  13  ;  on  that  of  Domitian,  the  Lei- 

August^n   age,  but  of  the  age  of  fers  of  Pliny  and  the  Agricola  of 

the  writer  who  relates  it.  Tacitus. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  401 

melled.  The  Greek  writers  consoled  themselves  for  the  ex- 
tinction of  the  independence  of  their  country  by  the  reflection 
that  in  the  sphere  of  intellect  the  meddling  policy  of  the 
Greek  States  was  replaced  by  an  absolute  and  a  majestic 
freedoTn.^  The  fierceness  of  the  op}:>osition  of  sects  faded 
beneath  its  influence.  Of  all  the  speculative  conflicts  of 
antiquity,  that  which  most  nearly  approached  the  virulence 
of  later  theological  controversies  was  probably  that  between 
the  Stoics  and  the  Epicureans ;  but  it  is  well  worthy  of  notice 
that  some  of  the  most  emphatic  testimonies  to  the  moral 
goodness  of  Epicurus  have  come  from  the  wiitings  of  his 
opponents. 

But  the  policy  of  the  Roman  rulers  towards  religious 
rites  was  very  different  from,  and  would  at  fii-st  sight  appear 
to  be  in  direct  opposition  to,  their  po'icy  towards  opinions. 
An  old  law,  which  Cicero  mentions,  expressly  forbade  the 
introduction  of  new  religions,^  and  in  the  Eepublican  days 
and  the  earliest  days  of  the  Empire  there  are  many  instances 
of  its  being  enforced.  Thus,  in  a.u.c.  326,  a  severe  drought 
having  led  men  to  seek  help  from  new  gods,  the  Senate 
charged  the  sediles  to  allow  none  but  Roman  deities  to  be 
worshipped.^  Lutatius,  soon  after  the  first  Punic  war,  was 
forbidden  by  the  Senate  to  consult  foreign  gods,  '  because,' 
said  the  historian,  '  it  was  deemed  right  the  Republic  should 
be  administered  according  to  the  national  auspices,  and  not 
accorcUng  to  those  of  other  lands.' ^  During  the  second  Punic 
war,  a  severe  edict  of  the  Senate  enjoined  the  suppression  of 
certain  recent  innovations.^  About  a.u.c.  615  the  prfetor 
Hispalus  exiled  those  who  had  introduced  the  worship  of 
the  Sabasian  Jupiter.^  The  rites  of  Bacchus,  being  accom- 
panied by  gross  and  scandalous  obscenity,  were  suppressed, 

'  See  a  remarkaLle  passage  in  *  i-iv^y.  iv.  30 

Dion     Ciiryfcostom,     Or.    Ixxx.  Be  ••  VhI.  Maximus   i.  3,  §  1, 

liherta/e.  s  Ljvy^  xxv.  1. 

2  fie   De  Lrgih.  ii.  11 ;  Tfrtull.  «  Yal.  Max.  i.  3,  §  2. 
,ip(>l.  V. 


i02  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS 

the  consul,  in  a  remarkable  speech,  calling  upon  the  people  to 
revive  the  religious  policy  of  their  ancestors.^  The  woi*shJp 
of  Tsis  and  Serapis  only  gained  its  footing  after  a  long  struggle, 
pjid  no  small  amount  of  persecution.  The  gross  immoiulity 
it  sometimes  favoured,  its  wild  and  abject  superstition,  so 
thoroughly  alien  to  the  whole  character  of  Roman  life  and 
tradition,  and  also  the  organisation  of  its  piiesthood,  rendered 
it  peculiarly  obnoxious  to  the  Government.  When  the  first 
edict  of  suppression  was  issued,  the  people  hesitated  to  destroy 
a  temple  which  seemed  so  venerable  in  tlieii-  eyes,  and  tho 
consul  ^milius  Paulus  dispelled  their  fciirs  l)y  seizing  an 
axe  and  striking  the  first  blow  himself.^  Durmg  the  latter 
days  of  the  Republic,  edicts  had  commanded  the  destruction 
of  the  Egyptian  temples.  Octavius,  however,  in  his  younger 
days,  favoured  the  new  worship,  but,  soon  after,  it  was  again 
suppressed.-^  Under  Tiberius  it  had  once  more  crept  in ;  but 
the  pidests  of  Isis  having  enabled  a  patrician  named  Mimdus 
to  disguise  himself  as  the  god  Anubis,  and  win  the  favours  of  a 
devout  v^orshipper,  the  temple,  by  order  of  the  emperor,  was 
destroyed,  the  images  were  thrown  into  the  Tiber,  the  priests 
were  crucified,  and  the  seducer  was  banished.'*  Under  the  same 
emperor  foui'  thousand  persons  were  exiled  to  Sardinia,  as 
affected  with  Jewish  and  Egyptian  superstitions.  They  were 
commissioned  to  repress  robters ;  but  the  Roman  historian 


'  See  the  account  of  these  pro-  nected  -with  them,  decreed,  that  if 
ceedings,  and  of  the  very  remark-  any  one  thought  it  a  matter  of  re- 
able  sppech  of  Postumius,  in  Livy,  ligious  duty  to    perform   religious 
xxxix.  8-19.  Pob^tumius  notices  the  ceremonies  to  Bacchus,  he  sliouhl 
old  prohibition  of  f  jreign  rites,  and  be  allowed  to  do  so  ou  applying  for 
1 1ms    explains    it:  —  '  Judieabant  pei mission  to  the  Senate,  provided 
tivAm     prudentissimi    viri     omnis  there  were  not  more  than  fire  as- 
divini  humanique  juris,  nihil  seque  bistants,  no  common  purse,  and  no 
dissrlvendie   religionis  esse,  quam  presiding  priest, 
ubi    non    patrio    sed   externo    riru  ^  Val.  Max.  i.  3. 
sacrificaretur.'  The  Senate,  though  ^  See  Dion  Cassius,  xl.  47  ;  Jdii. 
suppressing  th^se  rites  on  account  26;  xlvii.  15;  liv.  6. 
of  the  outrr-geous  immoralities  con-  ■•  Joseph.  A)itig.  xviii.  3. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  403 

ol'Servtid,  with  a  characiei-istic  scorn,  that  if  they  died  through 
the  uuhealthiiiess  of  the  climate,  it  would  be  but  a  '  small  loss.'' 

These  measiu-es  represent  together  a  considerable  amount 
of  religions  repression,  biit  they  were  pi'oduced  exclusively 
by  notions  of  policy  or  discipline.  They  grew  out  of  that 
intense  national  spirit  which  sacrificed  every  other  interest 
to  the  State,  and  resisted  every  form  of  innovation,  whether 
Bocular  or  religious,  that  could  impair  the  unity  of  the  national 
type,  and  dissolve  the  discipline  which  the  predominance  of 
the  military  spirit  and  thr  stern  government  of  the  Republic 
had  formed.  They  were  also,  in  some  cases,  the  result  of 
moral  scandals.  When,  however,  it  became  evident  that  the 
internal  condition  of  the  Republic  was  unsuited  for  the 
Empire,  the  rulers  frankly  acquiesced  in  the  change,  and 
from  the  time  of  Tiberius,  with  the  single  exception  of  the 
Christians,  perfect  liberty  of  worship  seems  to  have  been 
granted  to  the  professors  of  all  religions  in  Rome.^  The 
old  law  upon  the  subject  was  not  revoked,  but  it  was  not 
generally  enforced.  Sometimes  the  new  creeds  were  expressly 
authorised.  Sometimes  they  were  tacitly  permitted.  With 
a  single  exception,  all  the  i-eligions  of  the  world  raised  their 
heads  unmolested  in  the  '  Holy  City.'  ^ 

The  liberty,  however,  of  professing  and  practising  a 
foi-eign  worship  did  not  dispense  the  Roman  from  the  obhga- 
tion  of  performing  also  the  sacrifices  or  other  religious  rites 
of  his  own  land.  It  was  here  that  whatever  religious 
fanaticism  mingled  with  Pagan  persecutions  was  displayed. 
Eusebius  tells  us  that  religion  was  divided  by  the  Romans 

•  Tacit.  ^»?;a^.  ii.  85.  appeiir  th.it  this  measure  was  in- 

2  Tacitus  relates  {Ann.  xi.  15)  tended  to  interfere  with  any  other 

that  undtr  Chiudius  a  senatus  con-  form  of  worship, 
sultus  ordered  the  pontiffs  to  take  ^ '.Sacrosanctam  istamcivitatem 

care  that  the  ohl  Roman  (or.  more  accedo.'— Apuleius,   Metam.  lib.  x. 

|Toperly.  EtriHcan)  system  of  divi-  It  is  said   that  there  were  af.  one 

nation  was  observed,  since  the  in-  time  no  less  than  420  aedes  sacrce 

flux  of  foreign    superstitions   had  in  E -me.     Nieupoort,  De  Bitibus 

led  to  its  disuse ;  but  it  does  not  Romanoriimil'JlQ),  ■^.  276 


i04  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

into  three  parts — the  mythology,  or  legends  that  had  de- 
scended from  the  poets  ;  the  intei-pretations  or  theories  by 
which  the  philosophers  endeavoured  to  rationalise,  filter,  or 
explain  away  these  legends  ;  and  the  ritual  or  official  religio  "'i' 
observances.  In  the  fii'st  two  spheres  peifect  liberty  wis 
accorded,  but  the  ritual  was  placed  under  the  control  of  tho 
Government,  and  was  made  a  matter  of  compulsion.'  In 
order  to  realise  the  strength  of  the  feeling  tiiat  supported  it, 
we  must  remember  that  the  multitude  fii-mly  believed  that 
the  prosperity  and  adversity  of  the  Empire  depended  chiefly 
upon  the  zeal  or  indifference  that  was  shown  in  conciliating 
the  national  divinities,  and  also  that  the  philosophers,  as  I 
have  noticed  in  the  last  chapter,  for  the  most  part  not  only 
practised,  but  warmly  defended,  the  official  observances. 
The  love  of  truth  in  many  forms  was  exhibited  among  the 
Pagan  philosophers  to  a  degi^ee  which  has  never  been  sur- 
passed ;  but  there  was  one  form  in  which  it  was  absolutely 
unknown.  The  belief  that  it  is  wrong  for  a  man  in  religious 
matters  to  act  a  lie,  to  sanction  by  his  presence  and  by  liis 
example  what  he  regards  as  baseless  sujjerstitions,  had  no 
place  in  the  ethics  of  antiquity.  The  religious  flexibility 
which  polytheism  had  oiigiually  generated,  the  strong  poli- 
t'-cal  feeliug  that  pervaded  all  classes,  and  also  the  manifest 
impossibi  ity  of  making  philosophy  the  creed  of  the  ignorant, 
had  rendered  nearly  universal  among  philosophers  a  state  of 
feelino-  which  is  often  exhibited,  but  larely  openly  professed, 
amono-  ourselves.'^     The  religious  opinions  of  men  had  but 

»  Euseb.  Frcep.  Evang.  iv.  1.  them  :  '  Deorum  injiiriaa  cliis ''.ijrae  ' 
Fontenelie  says  very  truly,  '  II  y  a  —Tacit.  Annal.  \.  73. 
lieu  de  croire  que  chez  les  payens  '^  The  most  melancholy  rjodern 
la  religion  n'estoit  qu'une  pratique,  instance  ]  remember  is  a  letter 
dont  la  speculation  estoit  indiffe-  of  Huaie  to  a  young  man  wbo  was 
rente.  Faites  comme  le-j  autres  et  thinking  of  taking  orders  but  wlio, 
croyez  ce  qu'il  vous  plaira.' — Hist,  in  the  cou'se  of  his  studies,  became 
des  Oracles,  p.  95.  It  was  a  saying  a  complete  scepiic.  Hume  strongly 
of  Tiberius,  that  it  is  for  the  gods  advised  him  not  to  allcw  this  con- 
to   care   for  the  injuries  done   to  sideration    to    interfere   with    his 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    HOME.  iOS 

little  influence  on  theii-  religious  practices,  and  the  sceptic 
considered  it  not  merely  lawful,  but  a  duty,  to  attend  the  ob- 
servances of  liis  country.  No  one  did  more  to  scatter  the 
ancient  superstitions  than  Cicero,  who  was  himself  an  augur, 
and  who  strongly  asserted  the  duty  of  complying  with  the 
national  rites.'  Seneca,  having  recounted  in  the  most  derisive 
terms  the  absurdities  of  the  popular  worship,  concludes  his 
enumeration  by  declaring  that  '  the  sage  will  observe  all  these 
things,  not  as  pleasing  to  the  Divinities,  but  as  commanded 
by  the  law,'  and  that  he  should  remember  '  that  his  worship 
is  due  to  custom,  not  to  belief.'  ^  Epictetus,  whose  austere  creed 
rises  to  the  purest  monotheism,  teaches  as  a  fundamental 
religious  maxim  that  every  man  in  his  devotions  should  '  con- 
form to  the  customs  of  his  comitry.'  ^  The  Jews  and  Chris- 
tians, who  alone  refused  to  do  so,  were  the  re})re?entatives  of 
a  moral  principle  that  was  unknown  to  the  Pagan  world. 

It  should  be  remembered,  too,  that  the  Oriental  custom 
of  deifying  emperors  having  been  introduced  into  Rome,  to 
burn  incense  before  their  statues  had  become  a  kind  of  test 
of  loyalty.  This  adoration  does  not,  it  is  true,  appear  to  have 
implied  any  particular  article  of  belief,  and  it  was  probably 
regarded  by  most  men  as  we  regard  the  application  of  the 
term  '  Sacred  Majesty '  to  a  sovereign,  and  the  custom  of 
kneeling  in  his  presence  ;  but  it  was  esteemed  incons' stent 
with  Christianity,  and  the  conscientious  refusal  of  the 
Christians  to  comply  with  it  aroused  a  feeling  resembling 
that  which  was  long  produced  in  Christendom  by  the  refusal 
of  Quakers  to  comply  with  the  usages  of  coiu-ts. 


career      (Burton,     Life   of  Hume,  tanqunra  legibus  juspanon  tanquam 

vol.  ii.  pp.  187,  188.)     The  ixtilita-  diis  grata.  .   .  .  Meminerimus  cxil- 

rian  principles  of  the  philosopher  turn  ejus  magis  ad  moremquam  ad 

were  doubtltss  at  the  root  of  his  rem    pertinere.' -  St.  Aug.  De  Civ. 

ja'lgment.  Dei,    vi.    10.      St.    Augustine    de- 

^  De  Divinat.  ii.  33;    De  Nat.  7i ounces  this -snew  witn  great  power, 

Ihcr.  ii.  3.  Sep.  too,  Lactantiu.s  Inst.  Div.  ii.  3 

*  '  Quae  omnia  sapiens  servabit  ^  Enchirid.  sxxi. 


i06  HISTORY    OF    EUROrEAN    MORALS. 

The  obligation  to  perform  the  sacred  rites  of  an  idola- 
trous worship,  if  rigidly  enforced,  would  have  amounted,  in 
the  case  of  the  Jews  and  the  Christians,  to  a  complete  pro- 
scription. It  does  not,  however,  appear  tliat  the  Jews  were 
over  persecuted  on  this  ground.  They  formed  a  large  and 
influential  colony  in  Rome.  They  retained  undiminished,  in 
t^e  midst  of  the  Pagan  population,  their  exclusive  habits, 
refusing  not  merely  all  religious  communion,  but  most  soc'al 
intercourse  with  the  idolaters,  occupying  a  separate  quarter 
of  the  city,  and  sedulously  practising  their  distinctive  rites. 
Tiberius,  as  we  have  seen,  appears  to  have  involved  them  in 
his  proscription  of  Egyptian  superstitions  ;  bnt  they  were 
usually  perfectly  unmolested,  or  were  molested  only  when 
their  liotous  conduct  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
rulers.  The  Government  was  so  far  from  compelling  them 
to  perform  acts  contrary  to  their  religion,  that  Augustus  ex- 
pressly changed  the  day  of  the  distribution  of  cora,  in  order 
that  they  might  not  be  reduced  to  the  alternative  of  forfeiting 
their  share,  or  of  breaking  the  Sabbath.' 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  old  Eepublican  intolerance  had 
in  the  Empire  been  so  modified  as  almost  to  have  disappeared. 
The  libeity  of  speculat'on  and  discussion  was  entirely  un- 
checked. The  liberty  of  jDractising  foreign  religious  rites, 
though  ostensibly  limited  by  the  law  against  unauthorised 
religions,  was  after  Tiberius  equally  secure.  The  liberty  of 
abstaining  from  the  official  national  rites,  though  more  pre- 
carious, was  fully  conceded  to  the  Jews,  whose  jealousy  of 
idolatry  was  in  no  degree  inferior  to  that  of  the  Christians. 
It  remains,  then,  to  examine  what  were  the  causes  of  the 
very  exceptional  fanaticism  and  animosity  that  were  directed 
against  the  latter. 

The  fii-st  cause  of  the  persecution  of  the  Christians  was 
the  religious  notion  to  which  I  have  akeady  referred.     The 


?his  is  noticed  by  Philo. 


THE    CONVEIJSION    OF    ROME.  407 

belief  that  oiir  world  is  governed  by  isolated  acts  of  Divino 
intervention,  and  that,  in  consequence,  every  great  calamity, 
whether  physical,  or  military,  or  political,  may  be  regarded 
as  a  punishment  or  a  wai-ning,  was  the  basis  of  the  whole 
religious  system  of  antiquity.'  In  the  days  of  the  Republic 
every  famine,  pestilence,  or  drought  was  followed  by  a  search- 
ing investigation  of  the  sacred  rites,  to  ascertain  what 
irregularity  or  neglect  had  caused  the  Divine  anger,  and  two 
instances  are  recorded  in  %vhich  vestal  vii-gins  were  put  to 
death  because  their  unchastity  was  t'elieved  to  have  provoked 
a  national  calamity.^  It  might  appear  at  first  sight  that  the 
fanaticism  which  this  belief  would  naturally  produce  would 
have  been  directed  against  the  Jews  as  strongly  as  against 
the  Christians ;  but  a  moment's  reflection  is  sufficient  to  ex  • 
plain  the  difference.  The  Jewish  religion  was  essentiary 
conservative  and  unexpansive.  Although,  in  the  passion 
for  Oriental  religions,  many  of  the  Romans  had  begun  to 
pi*actise  its  ceremonies,  there  was  no  spirit  of  proselytism  in 
the  sect ;  and  it  is  probable  that  almost  all  who  followed  this 
religion,  to  the  exclusion  of  others,  were  of  Hebrew  nation- 
ality. The  Christians,  on  the  other  hand,  were  ardent  mis- 
sionaries ;  they  were,  for  the  most  part,  Romans  who  had 
thrown  off  the  allegiance  of  their  old  gods,  and  their  activity 
was  so  great  that  fi-om  a  very  early  period  the  temples  were 


'  The  ship  in  which  the  atheist  death    because  the  diviners  attn- 

Diagoras    sailed  was    once    nearly  Luted    to    her   unchastity   ce  tain 

wrecked    by    a    tempest,    and    the  *  pmdigies    in    the    heavens,'    ttiat 

sailors  declared  that  it  was  a  just  had  alarmed  the  people  at  the  be- 

retribution  from  the  gods   because  ginning   of    the     war   with    Veii. 

they  had  rfceived  the  philo>^opher  (Livy,  ii.  42.)     The  vestal  Urbiuia 

mto  their  vessel.     Diagoras,  point-  was  buried  alive  on  account  of  a 

ing  to   the  other  ships   that  were  plague    that    had  fallen    upon   the 

t(is.<!ed  by  the   same  storm,   asked  Eoman   women,   which   was    attri- 

vv  bother  they  imagined  there  was  buted     to    her    incontinence,    and 

a  Diagoras  in  each.     (Cic.  De  Nat.  which  is  said  to  have  ceised  sud- 

Veo7'.  iii   37.)  deuly  upon  her  execution.     (Dion 

2  Ths  vestal  Oppia  was  put  to  Halicax.  :x.) 


408  HISTORY    OF    EUROPE  AX    MORALS, 

in  some  districts  almost  deserted.^  Besides  tliis,  the  Jews 
simply  abstained  from  and  despised  the  religions  around  th-can. 
The  Christians  denounced  them  as  the  worship  of  dsemcns, 
and  lost  no  opportunity  of  insulting  them.  It  is  not,  there- 
fore, surprising  that  the  populace  should  have  been  firmly 
convinced  that  every  great  catastrophe  that  occurred  was 
du3  to  the  presence  of  the  enemies  of  the  gods.  '  Tf  the 
Tiber  ascends  to  the  walls,'  says  Tertullian,  '  or  if  the  Nile 
does  not  overflow  the  fields,  if  the  heaven  refuses  its  rain, 
if  the  earth  quakes,  if  famine  and  pestilence  desolate  the  land, 
immediately  the  cry  is  raised,  "  The  Christians  to  the  lions  I'"  ^ 
*■  Thei-e  is  no  rain — the  Cliristians  are  the  cause,'  had  become 
a  popular  proverb  in  Rome.^  Earthquakes,  which,  on  ac 
count  of  their  peculiarly  appalling,  and,  to  ignorant  men, 
mysterious  nature,  have  p^.ayed  a  very  large  part  in  the 
liistory  of  superstition,  were  frequent  and  terrible  in  tho 
Asiatic  provinces,  and  in  three  or  four  instances  the  pei'secu- 
tion  of  the  Ckristians  may  be  distinctly  traced  to  the  fanati- 
cism they  produced. 

There  is  no  pai-t  of  ecclesiastical  history  more  cimous 
than  the  effects  of  this  belief  in  alternately  assisting  or 
impeding  the  )3rogress  of  different  Churches.  In  the  fii^t 
thi-ee  centui'ies  of  Christian  history,  it  was  the  cause  of  fear- 
ful sufferings  to  the  faith ;  but  even  then  the  Christians 
usually  accepted  the  theory  of  their  adversaries,  though  they 
differed  concerniiig  its  application.  Tertullian  and  Cy|jrian 
strongly  maintained,  sometimes  that  the  calamities  were  due 
to  the  anger  of  the  Almighty  against  idolatry,  sometimes 
that  they  were  intended  to  avenge  the  persecution  of  the 
truth.  A  collection  was  early  made  of  men  who,  having 
been  hostile  to  the  Christian  faith,  had  died  by  some  horrible 


'  Pliny,  in  his  famous  letter  to  -  TevLApol.  xl.See,  too,  Cyprian, 

Trajan  about  the  Christians,  notices  contra  Demetrian.,  and  Amobius^ 

that   this   had    been  the   case    in  Apol.  lib.  i. 

Bithynia.  »  St.  Aug.  Be  Civ.  Dei,  ii.  3 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  409 

death,  and  their  deaths  were  pronounced  to  be  Divine  punish- 
•nents.'  The  victory  which  established  the  power  of  the 
first  Christian  emperor,  and  the  sudden  death  of  AriiiS; 
were  afterwards  accepted  as  decisive  pi-oofs  of  the  truth  of 
Christianity,  and  of  the  falsehood  of  Arianism.^  But  soon 
llie  manifest  signs  of  the  dissolution  of  the  Empii-e  revived 
the  zeal  of  the  Pagans,  who  began  to  reproach  themselves 
for  their  ingratitude  to  their  old  gods,  and  who  recognised  in 
the  calamities  of  theii-  country  the  vengeance  of  an  insulted 
Heaven.  When  the  altar  of  Victory  was  removed  con- 
temptuously from  the  Senate,  when  the  sacred  college  of  the 
vestals  was  suppressed,  when,  above  all,  the  armies  of  Alaric 
encircled  the  Ir,j.perial  city,  angry  murmui-s  arose  which  dis- 
turbed the  Christians  in  their  triumph.  The  standing-point 
of  the  theologians  was  then  somewhat  altered.  St.  Ambrose 
dissected  with  the  most  unsparing  rationalism  the  theory 
that  ascribed  the  national  decline  to  the  suppression  of  the 
vestals,  traced  it  to  all  its  consequences,  and  exposed  all  its 
absurdities.  Orosius  wrote  his  history  to  prove  that  gi*eat 
misfortunes  had  befallen  the  Empire  before  its  conversion. 
Salvian  wrote  his  treatise  on  Providence  to  prove  that  the 


^  Instances  of  this  kind  are  given  Eusebins  assifins  to  Constantine, 
by  Tertullian  Ad  Scapulam,  atnl  the  some  even  written  by  his  own  hand, 
whole  treatise  O71  the  Deaths  of  the  how,  almost  exclusively,  hw  dwells 
Persevitors,  attributed  t>  Lactan-  on  this  worldly  superiority  of  the 
tius,  is  a  development  of  the  same  G<  d  adored  by  the  Christians  over 
theory.  St.Cyprian's  treatise  against  those  of  the  heathens,  and  the 
Demetrianns  throws  much  light  on  visible  temporal  advantages  which 
the  mode  of  thought  of  the  Chris-  attend  on  the  worship  of  Chris- 
tians of  his  time.  In  the  later  his-  tianity.  His  own  victory,  and  the 
torians.  anecdotes  of  adversaries  of  disasters  of  his  enemies,  Hrehiscon- 
the  Church  dying  horriljle  deaths  elusive  evidences  of  Christianity.' — 
became  very  numei-ous.  They  were  Milman,  Hist,  of  Early  Christianity 
gaid  es-peciallv  to  have  been  eaten  (ed.  1867),  vol.  ii.  p.  327-  'It  was 
b}  worms.  Many  examples  of  this  a  standing  argument  of  A  thanasius, 
kind  ;ire  collected  by  Jortin.  {Re-  that  thft  «leath  of  Arius  was  a  suf- 
marksm^  Ecclcs.  Hist.\o\.\.^AZ2.)  ficient  refutation  of  his  heresy.'— 

-  'It  is  remai-kable,  in  all  the  Ibid.  p.  382. 
proclamations  and  documents  which 

28 


410  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

barbarian  invasions  were  a  Divine  judgment  on  the  imn.o- 
raUty  of  the  Christians.  St.  Augustine  concentrated  all  hifi 
genius  on  a  great  work,  wi-itten  under  the  impression  of  the 
invasion  of  Alaric,  and  intended  to  prove  that  '  the  city  of 
God '  was  not  on  eai-tli,  and  that  the  downfall  of  the  Empire 
need  therefore  cause  no  disquietude  to  the  Chiistians.  St. 
<^regory  the  Great  continually  represented  the  calamities  of 
Italy  as  warnings  foreboding  the  destruction  of  the  world. 
When  Eome  sank  finally  before  the  barbarian  hosts,  it  would 
seem  as  though  the  doctrine  that,  temporal  success  was  the 
proof  of  Divine  favoui*  must  be  finally  abandoned.  But  th'> 
Christian  clergy  disengaged  their  cause  from  that  of  the 
ruined  Empire,  pi'oclaimed  its  downfall  to  be  a  fulfilment  of 
prophecy  and  a  Divine  judgment,  confronted  the  barbarian 
conquerors  in  all  the  majesty  of  their  sacred  ofiice,  and 
overawed  them  in  the  very  moment  of  theii-  victory.  In  the 
conversion  of  the  uncivilised  tribes,  the  doctrine  of  special 
intervention  occupied  a  commanding  place.  The  Burgundians, 
when  defeated  by  the  Huns,  resolved,  as  a  last  resource,  to 
place  themselves  under  the  protection  of  the  Roman  God 
whom  they  vaguely  believed  to  be  the  most  powerful,  and  the 
whole  nation  in  consequence  embraced  Chi'istianity.  ^  In  a 
critical  moment  of  a  gi-eat  battle,  Clovis  invoked  the  assist- 
ance of  the  God  of  his  wife.  The  battle  was  won,  and  he, 
with  many  thousands  of  Franl^s,  was  converted  to  the  faith.  ^ 
In  England,  the  convei'sion  of  Northumbria  was  partly,  and 
the  conversion  of  Mercia  was  mainly,  due  to  the  belief  that 
the  Divine  interposition  had  secured  the  victory  of  a  Christian 
king.^  A  Bulgarian  prince  was  driven  into  the  Church  by 
the  teiTor  of  a  pestilence,  and  he  speedily  eflTected  the  con- 
version   of    his   subjects.*       The    destruction   of    so    many 


Sr^crates,  EccL  Hist.,  vii.  30.  ^  Milman's   Latin    Christianitf 

2  Greg.  Tur.  ii.  30.  31.     Clovis  (ed.  1867),  vol.  ii.  pp.  236-245. 
wrote  to  St.  Avitus,  'Your  faith  is  *  Ibid.  vol.  iii.  p.  248. 

our  victory.' 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  411 

sliiines,  and  the  defeat  of  so  many  Chi'istian  ai-mies,  by 
the  followers  of  Mohamet ;  the  disastrous  and  ignominious 
overthrow  of  the  Crusaders,  who  went  forth  protected  by 
all  the  blessings  of  the  Chiu'ch,  were  unable  to  impaii-  the 
beKef  All  through  the  middle  ages,  and  for  some  cen- 
tui'ies  after  the  middle  ages  had  passed,  every  startling  cata 
strophe  was  regaided  as  a  punishment,  or  a  warning,  or  a 
sign  of  the  approaching  termination  of  the  world  Churches 
and  monasteries  were  built.  Religious  societies  were 
founded.  Penances  were  performed.  Jews  wei-e  massaci-ed, 
and  a  long  catalogue  might  be  given  of  the  theories  by 
which  men  attempted  to  connect  every  vicissitude  of  fortune, 
and  every  convulsion  of  nature,  with  the  "vrranglings  of 
theologians.  Thus,  to  give  but  a  iew  examples  :  St.  Ambrose 
confidently  asserted  that  the  death  of  Maximus  was  a  conse- 
quence of  the  crime  he  had  committed  in  compelling  the 
Christians  to  rebuild  a  Jewish  synagogue  they  had  destroyed. ' 
One  of  the  laws  in  the  Justinian  code,  directed  against  the 
Jews,  Samaritans,  and  Pagans,  expressly  attributes  to  them 
the  sterility  of  the  soil,  which  in  an  earlier  age  the  Pagans 
had  so  often  attributed  to  the  Christians.^  A  volcanic  erup- 
tion that  broke  out  at  the  commencement  of  the  iconoclastic 
persecution  was  adduced  as  a  clear  proof  that  the  Divine 
anger  was  aroused,  according  to  one  part}%  by  the  hostility 
of  the  emperor  to  the  sacred  images ;  accoi-ding  to  the  other 
party,  by  his  sinful  hesitation  in  extirpating  idolatry. ^  Bodin, 
m  a  later  age,  considered  that  the  early  death  of  the  sovei-eion 


'  Ep.  xl.  _  v.nde  hypmis  internperata  ferocitas 

■•^  '  An  diiitiusperferimusmutnri  ubtrititem    terrarurn     peiit-trabili 

temporum   vices,   irata   coeli    tern-  frigore  stc-rilitatis  Isesione  damna- 

perie?   Quae  Paganorum  exacerbata  vit  ?  nisi   qucd  ad   impietatis  vin- 

perfidia  nescit  naturae  libramenta  dictam    tr.msit  lege    sua    naturse 

63rvare.     Unde    enim  ver  s  )litam  decretum.'  —  Novell,   lii.  Theodos. 

gratiam  abjuravit  ?     unde    aest-is,  DcJud(sls,Sa7naritanis,f'tH(Breticis. 
nesee  jejuna,    laboriosum   agrico-  s  Milman's  Latin   Christianity 

lam   in   spe    destituit   ari^tarum?  vol.  ii.  p.  354. 


il2  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

who  commanded  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  was  due 
to  what  he  deemed  the  master  crime  of  that  sovereign's  i*eign. 
He  had  spared  the  life  of  a  famous  sorcerer. '  In  the  struggles 
that  followed  the  Heformation,  physical  calamities  were  con- 
tinually ascribed  in  one  age  to  the  toleration,  in  another  to 
the  endowment,  of  either  heresy  or  Popery.  ^  Sometimes, 
however,  they  were  traced  to  the  theatre,  and  sometimes  to 
the  writings  of  freethinkers.  But  gradually,  and  almost  in- 
sensibly, these  notions  faded  away.  The  old  language  is  often 
heard,  but  it  is  no  longer  realised  and  operative,  and  the 
doctrine  which  played  so  large  a  part  in  the  history  of  the 
world  has  ceased  to  exercise  any  appreciable  influence  upon 
the  actions  of  mankind. 

In  addition  to  this  religious  motive,  which  acted  chiefly 
upon  the  vulgar,  there  was  a  poUtical  motive  which  rendered 
Christianity  obnoxious  to  the  educated.  The  Church  con- 
stituted a  vast,  highly  organised,  and  in  many  respects  secret 
society,  and  as  such  was  not  only  cUstinctly  illegal,  but  was 
also  in  the  very  highest  degree  calculated  to  excite  the  appre- 
hensions of  the  Govei'nment.  There  was  no  principle  in  the 
Imperial  policy  more  stubbornly  upheld  than  the  suppression 
of  all  corporations  that  might  be  made  the  nuclei  of  revolt. 
The  extent  to  which  this  policy  was  carried  is  stnkingly 
evinced  by  a  letter  from  Trajan  to  Pliny,  in  which  the 
emperor  forbade  the  formation  even  of  a  guild  of  fii'emen,  on 
the  ground  that  they  would  constitute  an  association  and 
hold  meetings.^  In  such  a  state  of  feeling,  the  existence  of  a 
vast  association,  governed  by  countless  functionaries,  shroud- 
ing its  meetings  and  some  of  its  doctrines  in  impeneti-able 
obscurity,   evoking   a   degree   of    attachment   and    devotion 


D'emonomanie  des  Sorciers,  p.  that  Nicomedia  was  peculiarly  tur- 

152.  biilent.     On    the   edict  against  tha 

2  See    a     curious     instance     in  hetserige,   or   associations    see  Ep, 

E^ayle's  Dictionary,  art. '  Vergerius.'  x,  97. 

^  Pliny,  Ep.s..  43.  Trajan  noticed 


THE    CONVEllSION    OF    KOME.  413 

gi -eater  than  coiild  be  elicited  by  the  State,  ramifying  through 
tlie  whole  extent  of  the  empire,  and  restlessly  extending  its 
inriiience,  would  natm-ally  arouse  the  strongest  apprehension. 
That  it  did  so  is  clearly  recognised  by  the  Christian  apologists, 
who,  however,  j  iistly  retorted  upon  the  objectors  the  impossi* 
bility  of  showing  a  single  instance  in  which,  in  an  age  of  con- 
tinual conspiracies,  the  numerous  and  persecuted  Christians 
had  proved  disloyal.  Whatever  we  may  think  of  their  doc- 
trine of  passive  obedience,  it  is  impossible  not  to  admire  the 
constancy  with  winch  they  chmg  to  it,  when  all  then-  interests 
were  the  other  way.  But  yet  the  Pagans  were  not  altogether 
wrong  in  regarding  the  new  association  as  fatal  to  the  great- 
ness of  the  Empire.  It  consisted  of  men  who  regarded  the 
Roman  Empire  as  a  manifestation  of  Antichrist,  and  who 
looked  forward  vdth.  passionate  longing  to  its  destruction. 
It  substituted  a  new  enthusiasm  for  that  patriotism  which 
was  the  very  life-blood  of  the  national  existence.  Many  of 
the  Christians  deemed  it  wrong  to  fight  for  their  country. 
All  of  them  aspired  to  a  type  of  character,  and  were  actuated 
by  hopes  and  motives,  wholly  inconsistent  with  that  proud 
martial  ardour  by  which  the  triumphs  of  Rome  had  been 
won,  and  by  which  alone  her  impending  ruin  could  be 
averted.    • 

The  aims  and  principles  of  this  association  were  very 
imperfectly  understood.  The  greatest  and  best  of  the  Pagans 
spoke  of  it  as  a  hateful  superstition,  and  the  phrase  they 
most  frequently  reiterated,  when  speaking  of  its  members, 
was  '  enemies '  or  '  haters  of  the  human  race.'  Such  a  charge, 
dii'ected  persistently  against  men  whose  main  principle  was 
the  supreme  excellence  of  love,  and  whose  charity  unques- 
tionably rose  far  above  that  of  any  other  class,  was  probably 
due  in  the  first  place  to  the  unsocial  habits  of  the  convert-?, 
who  deemed  it  necessary  to  abstain  from  all  the  forms  of 
public  amusement,  to  refuse  to  illuminate  their  houses,  or 
bang  garlands  from  theii^  portals  in  honour  of  the  national 


il4  HISTORY    OF    EUKOPEAN    MORALS. 

briiimpJQS,  and  who  somewhat  ostentatiously  exhibited  them' 
selves  as  sepai-ate  and  alien  from  their  countrymen.  It  may 
nlso  have  arisen  from  a  knowledge  of  the  popular  Christiai; 
doctiine  about  the  future  destiny  of  Pagans.  When  the 
Roman  learnt  what  fate  the  Christian  assigned  to  the  heroes 
and  sages  of  his  nation,  and  to  the  immense  mass  of  his  living 
fellow-countiymen,  when  he  was  told  that  the  destruction  of 
the  once  gloiious  Empire  to  which  he  belonged  was  one  of 
the  most  fervent  aspirations  of  the  Church,  his  feelings  were 
very  likely  to  clothe  themselves  in  such  language  as  I  have 
cited. 

But,  in  addition  to  the  general  charges,  specific  accusa- 
tions '  of  the  grossest  kind  were  dii^ected  against  Chiistian 
morals.  At  a  time  when  the  moral  standard  was  very  low, 
they  were  charged  mth  deeds  so  atrocious  as  to  scandalise  the 
most  corrupt.  They  were  represented  as  habitually,  in  their 
secret  assemblies,  celebrating  the  most  licentious  orgies, 
feeding  on  human  flesh,  and  then,  the  lights  having  been 
extinguished,  indulging  in  promiscuous,  and  especially  in 
incestuous,  intercourse.  The  persistence  with  wliich  these 
accusations  were  made  is  shown  by  the  gi-eat  prominence  they 
occupy,  both  in  the  writings  of  the  apologists  and  in  the 
naiTations  of  the  persecutions.  That  these  changes  were 
absolutely  false  A\dll  now  be  questioned  by  no  one.  The 
Fathers  were  long  able  to  challenge  theii'  adversaries  to  pro- 
dace  a  single  instance  in  which  any  other  crime  than  his 
faith  was  proved  against  a  martyr,  and  they  urged  with  a 
just  and  noble  pride  that  whatever  doubt  there  might  be  of 
the  truth  of  the  Christian  doctrines,  or  of  the  Livine  origin 
of  the  Chiistian  miracles,  there  was  at  least  no  doubt  that 
Christianity  had  transformed  the  characters  of  multitudes, 
vivified  the  cold  heart  by  a  new  enthusiasm,  redeemed,  re- 


•  All  the  apolo2ists  are  full  of  useful  and  learned  work,  Kortholt, 
those  charges.  The  chief  passages  De  Calumniis  contra  Ckristianos 
have  been  collected  in   'Jiat  very     (Cologne,  1683.) 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    HOME.  415 

generated,  and  emancipated  the  most  depraved  of  mankind. 
Nob'e  lives,  crowned  by  heroic  deaths,  were  the  best  argu- 
ments of  the  inf:int  Church.^  Theii'  enemies  themselves  not 
unfrequentl}''  acknowledged  it.  The  love  shown  by  the  early 
Chiistians  to  their  suffering  brethren  has  never  been  more 
emphatically  attested  than  by  Lucian,^  or  the  beautiful  sim- 
plicity of  their  worship  than  by  Pliny,^  or  theii-  ardent 
charity  than  by  Julian."*  There  was,  it  is  true,  another  side 
to  the  picture  ;  but  even  when  the  moral  standard  of  Chiis- 
tians was  greatly  lowered,  it  was  lowered  only  to  that  of  the 
community  about  them. 

These  calumnies  were  greatly  encouraged  by  the  eccle- 
siastical rule,  which  withheld  from  the  unbaptised  all  know- 
ledge of  some  of  the  moro  mysterious  doctrines  of  the 
Church,  and  veiled,  at  least,  one  of  its  ceremonies  in  gxeat 
obscurity.  Yague  rumours  about  the  nature  of  that  sacra- 
mental feast,  to  which  none  but  the  baptised  Christian  was 
suffered  to  penetrate,  and  which  no  ecclesiastic  was  permitted 
to  explain  either  to  the  catechumens  or  to  the  world,  were 
probably  the  origin  of  the  charge  of  cannibalism  ;  while  the 
Agapse  or  love  feasts,  the  ceremony  of  the  kiss  of  love,  and 
the  peculiar  and,  to  the  Pagans,  perhaps  unintelligible, 
language  in  which  the  Christians  proclaimed  themselves  one 
body  and  fellow-members  in  Christ,  may  have  suggested  the 
other  charges.  The  eager  credulity  with  which  equally  base- 
less accusations  against  the  Jews  were  for  centuries  believed, 
illustrates  the  readiness  with  which  they  were  accepted,  and 
the  extremely  imperfect  system  of  police  which  rendered  the 
verification  of  secret  crimes  very  difficult,  had  no  doubt 
greatly  enlarged  the  sphere  of  calumny.  But,  in  addition 
to  these  considerations,  the  orthodox  were  in  some  respects 
exceedingly  unfortunate.     In  the  eyes  of  the  Pagans  they 

'  Justin  Miirtyr  tells  us  it  was  -  Peregrinus. 

the  brave  deaths  of  the  Christians  ^  Ej^.  x.  97 

Ibat  convei'ted  him.     [J.pol.  ii.  12.)  ^  Ep.  ii. 


416  HISTOKT    OF    EUHOPEAN    MORALS. 

were  regarded  as  a  sect  of  Jews ;  and  the  Jews,  on  account 
of  tbeu-  continual  riots,  their  inextinguishable  hatred  of  the 
(>entile  world,'  and  the  atrocities  that  frequently  accom- 
panied their  rebellions,  had  early  excited  the  anger  and  the 
contempt  of  the  Pagans.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Jew,  who 
deemed  the  abandonment  of  the  law  the  most  heinous  of 
i-rimes,  and  whose  patriotism  only  shone  Avith  a  fiercer  flame 
amid  the  calamities  of  his  nation,  regarded  the  Christian 
with  an  implacable  hostility.  Scorned  or  hated  by  those 
aromid  him,  his  temple  levelled  with  the  dust,  and  the  last 
vestige  of  his  independence  destroyed,  he  clung  with  a 
desperate  tenacity  to  the  hopes  and  privileges  of  his  ancient 
creed.  In  his  eyes  the  Christians  were  at  once  apostates 
and  traitors.  He  could  not  forget  that  in  the  last  dark  hour 
of  his  country's  agony,  when  the  armies  of  the  Gentile 
encompassed  Jerusalem,  and  when  the  hosts  of  the  faithful 
flocked  to  its  defence,  the  Christian  Jews  had  abandoned  the 
fortunes  of  theii'  race,  and  refused  to  bear  any  part  in  the 
heroism  and  the  sufferings  of  the  closing  scene.  They  had 
proclaimed  that  the  promised  Messiah,  who  was  to  restore 
the  faded  glories  of  Israel,  had  already  come  ;  that  the  privi- 
leges which  were  so  long  the  monopoly  of  a  single  people  had 
passed  to  the  Gentile  world  ;  that  the  race  which  was  once 
supi-emely  blest  was  for  all  future  time  to  be  accursed  among 
Diankind.  It  is  not,  therefore,  surprisrug  that  there  should 
have  arisen  between  the  two  creeds  an  animosity  which 
Paganism  could  never  rival.  While  the  Chi-istians  viewed 
with  too  much  exultation  the  calamities  that  fell  upon  the 
prostrate  people,^  whose  cup  of  bitterness  they  were  destined 

'  Juvenal  describes  the  popular         Qugesitiim  ad  fontem  solos  dedu 
estimate  of  the  Jews  : —  cere  verpos.' 

'Tradidit     aroano     quodcunque  Sat.  x\x.  102-1  Of). 

voluraine  Moses  ;  It  is  not  true  that  the  Mosaic  la  w 

Non  monstrare  vias,  eadem  nisi  contains  these  precepts. 

sacra  colenti,  •^  See  Merivale's  Hist,  of  Romt, 

vol.  viii.  p.  176. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  417 

tliroiigh  long  centuries  to  fill  to  the  brim,  the  Jews  laboured 
with  unwearied  hatred  to  foment  by  calumnies  the  pas- 
dons  of  the  Pagan  multitude.'  On  the  other  hand,  the 
Catholic  Christians  showed  themselves  extremely  willing  to 
diTiw  down  the  sword  of  the  persecutor  upon  the  heretical 
sects.  When  the  Pagans  accused  the  Christians  of  indulging 
in  orgies  of  gross  licentiousness,  the  first  apologist,  while  re- 
pudiatmg  the  charge,  was  cnreful  to  add,  of  the  heretics, 
*  Whether  or  not  these  people  commit  those  shameful  and 
fabulous  acts,  the  putting  out  the  lights,  indulging  in  pro- 
miscuous intercourse,  and  eating  human  fiesh,  I  know  not.'^ 
In  a  few  years  the  language  of  doubt  and  insinuation  was 
exchanged  for  that  of  direct  assertion ;  and,  if  we  may  believe 
St.  Iren?eus  and  St.  Clement  of  Alexandria,  the  followers  of 
Carpocrates,  the  Marcionites,  and  some  other  Gnostic  sects, 
habitually  indulged,  in  their  secret  meetings,  in  acts  of 
impurity  and  licentiousness  as  hideous  and  as  monstrous  as 
can  be  conceived,  and  their  conduct  was  one  of  the  causes 
of  the  persecution  of  the  orthodox.'  Even  the  most  ex- 
travagant charges  of  the  Pagan  populace  were  reiterated  by 
the  Fathers  in  their  accusations  of  the  Gnostics.  St.  Epi- 
phanius,  in  the  fourth  century,  assm-es  us  that  some  of  their 
sects  were  accustomed  to  kill,  to  dress  with  spices,  and  to  eat 
the  children  born  of  their  promiscuous   intercoui-se."*     The 


'  See   Justin    Martyr,    IVypho,  ing  children,  and  especially  infants, 

xvii.  occupies  a    very   prominent   plaea 

-  .Justin  Martyr,  Apol.  i.  26.  amon<^   tlie   recriminations   of  re- 

'  Eusebius  expressly  notices  ligionists.  The  Pagans,  as  we  hava 
that  the  licentiousness  of  the  sect  seen,  brought  it  against  the  Chris- 
of  Carpocrates  occasioned  calumnies  tians,  and  the  orthodox  against  some 
against  the  whole  of  the  Christian  of  the  early  heretics.  The  Chris- 
body,  (iv.  7.)  A  number  of  passages  tians  accused  Julian  of  murderii  g 
from  the  Fathers  describing  the  infants  for  magical  purposes,  and 
immorality  of  these  heretics  are  the  bed  of  the  Orontes  was  said  to 
referred  to  by  Cave,  Primitive  have  been  choked  with  their  bodies. 
Christianity,  part  ii.  ch.  v.  The  accusation  was  then  commonly 

*  Epiphanius.  Adv.  Har.  lib.  i.  directed  against  the  Jews,  against 

Biier.  26.     The  charge  of  murder-  the  witch.es,  and  against  the  mid 


118 


niSTOKY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 


heretics,  in  their  turn,  gladly  accused  the  Catholics , '  while 
the  Roman  judge,  in  whose  eyes  Judaism,  orthodox  Christi- 
anity, and  heresy  were  but  slightly  differiug  modifications  of 
01!  3  despicable  superstition,  doubtless  found  iu  this  interchange 
oi  accusations  a  corroboration  of  his  prejudices. 

Another  cause  of  the  peculiar  animosity  felt  against  tho 
Christians  was  the  constant  interference  with  domestic  life, 
arising  from  the  gi-eat  number  of  female  conversions.  The 
Christian  teacher  was  early  noted  for  his  unrivalled  skill  in. 
playing  on  the  chords  of  a  woman's  heart.  ^  The  graphic 
title  of  '  Earpicker  of  ladies,'  ^  wliich  was  given  to  a  seductive 
pontiff  of  a  somewhat  later  period,  might  have  been  appHed  to 
many  in  the  days  of  the  persecution ;  and  to  the  Eoman,  who 
regarded  the  supreme  authority  of  the  head  of  the  family,  in 


wives,  who  were  supposed  to  be 
m  confederation  witli  the  witches. 

>  See  an  example  in  Eusebius, 
iii.  32.  After  the  triumph  of 
Christianity  the  Arian  heretics 
appear  to  have  been  accustomed 
to  bring  accusations  of  immorality 
against  the  Catholics.  Thoy  pro- 
cured the  deposition  of  St.  Eusta- 
thius,  Bishop  of  Antioch,  bj  suborn- 
ing a  prostitute  to  accuse  him  of 
being  the  father  of  lier  child.  The 
woman  afterwards,  on  her  death- 
bed, confessed  the  imposture. 
(Theodor.  Hid.  i.  21-22.)  They 
also  accused  St.  Athanasius  of 
murder  and  un chastity,  both  of 
which  charges  he  most  trium- 
phantly repelled.     (Ibid.  i.  30. ) 

^  The  great  exertions  and  suc- 
cess of  the  Christians  in  making 
female  converts  is  indignantly 
noticed  by  Celsus  {Origen)  and  by 
the  Pagan  interlocutor  in  Minucius 
Ye\\:s.{Octavius),  and  a  more  n^inute 
examination  of  ecclesiastical  history 
amply  confirms   their   statements. 


I  shall  have  in  a  future  chapter  to 
revert  to  this  matter,  Tertullian 
graphically  describes  the  anger  of 
a  man  lie  knew,  at  the  conver^^ion 
of  his  wife,  and  declares  he  would 
rather  have  had  her  'a  prostitute 
than  a  Christian.'  {Ad  Nationcs, 
i.  4.)  He  also  mentions  a  governor 
of  Cappadocia,  named  Herminiaaus, 
\rliose  motive  for  persecuting  the 
Christians  was  his  anger  at  tlie 
conversion  of  his  wife,  and  who,  in 
consequence  of  his  having  perse- 
cuted, was  devoured  by  worms.  {Ad 
Scapvl.  3.) 

^  '  Matronarum  Auriscalpius.' 
The  title  was  given  to  Pope  St. 
Damasus.  See  Jortin's  Remarks 
on  Ecch siasti"Ml  Histori/,  vol.  ii.  p. 
27.  Ammianus  Marcellinus  notices 
(xxvii.  3)  the  great  wealth  the 
Koman  bishops  of  his  time  ha  1 
acquired  through  the  gifts  of  women. 
Theodoret  {Hist.  Eccl.  ii.  17)  gives 
a  curious  account  of  the  energetic 
proceedings  of  the  Roman  laiic? 
upon  the  exile  of  Pope  biberius. 


THE    CON  VERSION    OF    ROME.  419 

all  religious  matters,  as  the  veiy  foundation  of  domestic 
mojuKty.  no  character  could  appear  more  infamous  or  more 
revolting.  '  A  wife/  said  Plutarch,  expressing  the  deepest 
conviction  of  the  Pagan  world,  '  should  have  no  friends  but 
those  of  hei-  husband  ;  and,  as  the  gods  are  the  first  of  friends, 
she  should  know  no  gods  but  those  whom  her  husband 
adores.  Let  her  shut  the  door,  then,  against  idle  religions 
and  foreign  superstitions.  No  god  can  take  pleasure  in 
sacrifices  offered  by  a  wife  without  the  knowledge  of  her 
husband.' '  But  these  princip.es,  upon  which  the  whole  social 
system  of  Paganism  had  rested,  were  now  disregarded. 
Wives  in  multitudes  deserted  theii'  homes  to  frequent  the 
nocturnal  meetings  ^  of  a  sect  which  was  looked  upon  with 
the  deepest  suspicion,  and  was  placed  uader  the  ban  of  the 
law.  Again  and  again,  the  husband,  as  he  ]aid  his  head  on 
the  pillow  by  his  wife,  had  the  bitterness  of  thinking  that  all 
her  sympathies  were  withdi-awn  from  him  ;  that  her  affections 
belonged  to  an  alien  priesthood  and  to  a  foreign  creed  ;  that, 
though  she  might  discharge  her  duties  with  a  gentle  and  uai- 
comp'aining  fidelity,  he  had  for  ever  lost  the  power  of  touch- 

'  Cfmj.  Prcpcept.     This  passaije  rationis  iiistituimt :  quas  nocturnis 

has  been  thought  to  refer  to  the  congrLgationibus  et  jejuniis  solen- 

Christians ;  if  so,  it  is  the  single  nibus  et  inhumanis  cibis  non  sacro 

example  of  its  kind  in  the  wi'itings  quodam    sed    piaculo    fcederantur, 

of  Pluta,rch.  latebrosa   ct    lucilugax    natio,    in 

■■^  Pliny,   in   his   letter   on   the  publico  niuta,  in  aiigulis  garrula; 

Christians,   notices  that   their    as-  templa  ut  busta  despiciunt,    deos 

semblies     were    before    daybreak,  despuunt,  rid ent  sacra.'— 0c/ai'M«5. 

TertuUian     and     Minucius     Felix  Teitullian,  in  exhorting  the  Chris- 

tpeak    frequently     of     the     'noc-  tian  women  not  to  intermarry -with 

turnes con vocationes,' or 'nocturnes  P;igans,  gives  as  one   reason   that 

eongrigationes'  of  the  Christians,  they   would   not   permit    them    to 

The  following  passage,  which   the  attend   this   '  nightly   convocation.' 

la. -t  of  these  writers  puts  into  the  {Ad    Uxorem,   ii.   4.)     This   whole 

mouth  of  a  Pagan,  describes  for-  chapter  is  a   graphic   but   deeply 

cibly  the  popular  feeling  about  the  painful  pict-ireof  the  utter  impossi- 

Christians:     'Qui  do  ultima  faece  bility  of  a  Christian  woman  having 

collectis  imperitioribus  et  mulieri-  any  real  community  of  feeling  with 

bus   credulis    sexus    sni    facilitate  a  '  servant  of  the  devil.' 
iabentibus,  pl-^bem  profanae  conju- 


1:20  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

ing  her  heart — he  was  to  her  only  as  an  outcast,  as  a  brand 
prepared  for  the  burning.  Even  to  a  Christian  mind  there 
is  a  deep  pathos  in  the  picture  which  St.  Augustme  has  drawn 
of  the  broken-hearted  husband  imploring  the  assistance  of 
the  gods,  and  receiving  from  the  oracle  the  bitter  answ  «^r  : 
*  You  may  more  easily  write  in  enduring  characters  on  the 
wave,  or  fly  with  feathers  through  the  air,  than  purge  the 
jDind  of  a  woman  when  once  tainted  by  the  superstition.' ' 

I  liave  already  noticed  the  prominence  which  the  practice 
of  exorcism  had  aequii-ed  in  the  early  Church,  the  contempt 
with  wliich  it  was  regarded  by  the  more  philosophic  Pagans, 
and  the  law  which  had  been  dii-ected  against  its  professors. 
It  is  not.  however,  probable  that  this  practice,  though  it 
lowered  the  Christians  in  the  eyes  of  the  educated  as  much 
as  it  elevated  them  in  the  eyes  of  the  populace,  had  any 
appreciable  influence  in  provoking  persecution.  In  the  crowd 
of  superstitions  that  were  invading  the  Roman  Empire, 
exorcism  had  a  prominent  place;  all  such  practices  were 
popular  with  the  masses ;  the  only  form  of  magic  which  under 
the  Empire  was  seriously  persecuted  was  political  astrology 
or  divination  with  a  view  to  discovering  the  successors  to  the 
throne,  and  of  this  the  Chiistians  were  never  accused.^  There 
was,  however,  au  other  foi-m  of  what  was  deemed  superstition 
connected  with  the  Church,  which  was  regarded  by  Pagan 
philosophers  wiih  a  much  deeper  feeling  of  aversion.  To 
agitate  the  minds  of  men  with  religious  tori'orism,  to  fill  the 
unknown  world  with  hideous  images  of  sufiering,  to  govern 
the  reason  by  alarming  the  imagination,  was  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Pasan  world  one  of  the  most  heinous  of  crimes.'     These  fear? 


'  De  Civ.  Del,  xix.  23.  of  Marcus  Axirelius,  he,  as  I  hare 
^  The  policy  of  the  Iiomans  already  noticed,  beins  a  disbeliever 
with  reference  to  magic  has  been  on  this  subject.  (Jeremie,  Hist,  of 
minutely  traced  by  Maury,  Hist,  de  Church  in  the  Second  and  Third 
la  Magie.  Dr.  Jeremie  conjectures  Cent.  p.  26.)  But  this  is  mere  con- 
that  the  exorcisms  of  the  Chris-  jecture. 
tians  may  have  excited  the  antipathy  ^  See  the  picture  of  the  senti 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  421 

were  to  the  ancients  the  very  definition  of  superstition,  and 
their  destruction  was  a  main  object  both  of  the  Epicurean 
and  of  the  Stoic.  To  men  holding  such  sentiments,  it  is  easy 
to  perceive  how  obnoxious  must  ha\'e  appeared  religious 
teachers  who  maintained  that  an  eternity  of  tortui'e  was 
reserved  for  the  entire  human  race  then  existing  in  the  worklj 
beyond  the  range  of  their  own  community,  and  who  made  the 
assertion  of  this  doctrine  one  of  their  main  instruments  of 
success.^  Enquiry,  among  the  early  theologians,  was  much 
less  valued  than  belief, ^  and  reason  was  less  appealed  to  than 
fear.  In  philosophy  the  most  comprehensive,  but  in  theology 
the  most  intolerant,  system  is  naturally  the  strongest.  To 
weak  women,  to  the  young,  the  ignorant,  and  the  timid,  to 
all,  in  a  word,  who  were  doubtful  of  their  own  judgment,  the 
doctrine  of  exclusive  salvation  must  have  come  with  an 
appalling  power ;  and,  as  no  other  religion  professed  it,  it 
supplied  the  Church  with  an  invaluable  vantage-ground,  and 


meiits  of  the  Pagans  on  tliis  matter,  aliqiias  spes  ferat,   qaam   omniiio 

ill    Plutarch's    noble     Treatise    on  quodnullas?     In  illoenim  periculi 

S'lpcrstition.  nihil  est,  si  quod  dicitur  imminere 

'  Thus  Justin  Martyr:   'Since  cassum  fiat   et   vacuum.     In    hoc 

sensation  remains  in  all  men  who  damnum     est     maximum.' — Adv. 

have  been   in  existence,  and  ever-  Gentcs.  lib.  i 

lai^ting  punishment  is  in  store,  do  '^  The  continual  enforcement  of 

not  hesitate  to  believe,  and  be  cou-  the  duty  of  belief,  and  the  credulity 

vincpd  that  what  I  say  is  true.   .  .  of  the  Christians,  were  perpetually 

This  Gehenna  is  a  place  where  all  dwelt   on    by    Celsus   and    Julian, 

w-ill    be    punished    who    live    uii-  According  to  the  first,  it  was  usual 

jighteously,  and  who  believe   not  fur  them  to  say,  '  Do  not  examine, 

tiiat  what  God  has  taught  through  but    lielieve    only'     According   to 

Christ  will  come  to  pass.'— yi/W.  1.  the  latter,  'the  sum  of  their  wisdom 

18-19.     Arnobius  has  stated  very  was   comprised  in  this  single  pre- 

forcibly   the    favourite    argument  cept,  believe.'     The  apologists  fre- 

of  many  later  tlieologians :  '  Cum  quently  notice  this  charge  of  cre- 

ergo  hsec  sit  conditio  futurorum  ut  dulity    as    brought     against     the 

t>jneri  et  comprehendi  nullius  pos-  Christians,  and   some  famous  sen- 

si  It  anticipationis  attactu :   noiine  tences    of    TertuUian    go    far    to 

p.rior  ratio  est,  ex  duobus  incertis  justify   it.     See    Middleton's   Fre^ 

et  in   ambigua   expectatione  pen-  Enquiry,  In  trod.  pp.  xcii.  xciii. 


dentibus,  id   potius   credere   quod 


42*2  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

doubtless  drove  multitudes  into  its  pale.  To  this  doctrine  we 
may  also,  in  a  gi^eat  degree,  ascribe  the  agony  of  terror  that 
was  so  often  displaced  by  the  apostate,  whose  flesh  shi-aiik 
from  the  present  torture,  but  who  was  convuiced  that  the 
weakness  he  could  not  overcome  would  be  expiated  by  an 
eternity  of  torment.'  To  the  indignation  excited  by  such 
teaching  was  probably  due  a  law  of  Marcus  AureKus,  which 
decreed  that  '  if  any  one  shall  do  anything  whereby  the  weak 
ininds  of  any  may  be  terrified  by  superstitious  fear,  the 
offender  shall  be  exiled  into  an  island. '^ 

There  can,  indeed,  be  little  doubt  that  a  cliief  cause  of  the 
hostility  felt  against  the  Chi-istian  Chiu'ch  was  the  into-ei*ant 
aspect  it  at  that  time  displayed.  The  Romans  wei-e  prepared 
to  tolerate  almost  any  form  of  religion  that  would  tolei-ate 
others.  The  Jews,  though  quite  as  obstinate  as  the  Christians 
in  refusing  to  sacrifice  to  the  emperor,  were  rarely  molested, 
except  in  the  periods  immediately  following  their  insurrections, 
because  Judaism,  however  exclusive  and  unsocial,  was  still 
an  unaggressive  n-itional  faith.  But  the  Christian  teachers 
taught  that  all  religions,  except  their  own  and  that  of  the 
Jews,  wei-e  consti-ucted  by  devils,  and  that  all  who  dissented 
from  their  Church  must  be  lost.  It  was  impossible  that 
men  strung  to  the  very  highest  pitch  of  religious  excitement, 
and  imagining  they  saw  in  every  ceremony  and  oracle  the 
direct  working  of  a  present  daemon,  could  restrain  theii-  zeal 


'  See  the  graphic  picture  of  the  Persons,  mIipii  excommunicated, 
agony  of  terror  manifested  by  the  were  also  said  to  have  been  some- 
apostates  as  they  tottered  to  the  times  visibly  possessed  by  deviis. 
altar  at  Alexaudria,  in  the  Decinn  See  Church,  On  Miraculous  Powers 
perseruiion,  in  Dionysius  apud  in  tJie  First  Three  Centuries,  pp. 
Eusebius,     vi.     41.       Miraculous  52-5-t. 

judgments     (often,     perhaps,    the  -'Si    quis  aliquid  fecerit,  quo 

natural  consequence  of  this  extreme  leves  hominum  animi  superstitio;ie 

fear)  were  said  to  have  frequently  numinis  terrerentur,  Di\Tis  Marcus 

fallen    upon    the    apostates.      St.  hujusmodi     homines     in    insulam 

Cyprian  has  preserved  an ura I" er  of  relegari    rescripsit,'     Dig.    xlriii, 

these   in   his   treatise  De  Lapsis.  tit.  19,  1.  30. 


THE    fONYERSION    OF    ROME.  423 

or  respect  in  any  degree  the  feelings  of  others.  Proselytising 
with  an  untu-ing  energy,  poui-ing  a  fierce  sti-eam  of  invective 
and  ridicule  upon  the  gods  on  whose  favour  the  multiiiide 
believed  all  national  prosperity  to  depend,  not  unfrequently 
insulting  the  worshippers,  and  defacing  the  idols,'  they  soon 
stung  the  Pagan  devotees  to  madness,  and  convinced  them  that 
every  calamity  that  fell  upon  the  empire  was  the  righteous 
vengeance  of  the  gods.  Nor  was  the  sceptical  politician  mo^e 
likely  to  regard  with  ftxvour  a  religion  whose  development 
was  plainly  incompatible  with  the  whole  religious  policy  of 
the  Empire.  The  new  Chuich,  as  it  was  then  organised, 
must  have  appeared  to  him  essentially,  fundamentally,  neces- 
sarily intolerant.  To  permit  it  to  triumph  was  to  permit  the 
extinction  of  religious  libei-ty  in  an  empire  which  comprised 
all  the  leading  nations  of  the  world,  and  tolerated  all  their 
creeds.  It  was  indeed  true  that  in  the  days  of  their  distress 
the  apologists  proclaimeil,  in  high  and  eloquent  language,  the 
iniquity  of  persecution,  and  the  priceless  value  of  a  free 
worship ;  but  it  needed  no  gi-eat  sagacity  to  perceive  that  the 
language  of  the  dominant  Church  would  be  very  difierent. 
The  Pagan  philosopher  could  not  foresee  the  ghastly  histories 
of  the  Inquisition,  of  the  Albigenses,  or  of  St.  Bai-tholomew  ; 
but  he  could  scarcely  doubt  that  the  Christians,  when  in  the 
ascendant,  would  never  tolerate  rites  which  they  believed  to 
be  consecrated  to  devils,  or  restrain,  in  the  season  of  their 
power,  a  religious  animosity  wliich  they  scarcely  bridled 
when  they  were  weak.     It  needed  no  prophetic  inspiration 

'  A  numLer  of  instances  have  Christianos ;  Barbeyrac,  Moral:  des 

been  recorded,  in  which  the  punish-  Peres,   c.   xvii.  ;    Tillemont,    Mem. 

ment  of  the  Christians  was  due  to  ecdhiast.   tome  vii.   pp.   354-355 ; 

their   baring    broken   idols,    orer-  Ceillier,  Hist,  dcs  Auteurs  sacres, 

turned   altars,    or   in   other   ways  tome  iii.  pp.  531- 533.    The  Council 

insulted  the  Pagans  at  their  wor-  of  Illiberis   found   it  necessary  to 

ship.     The  reader  may  find  many  make  a  canon  refiisiug  the  title  of 

examples  of  this  collected  in  Cave's  'ranrtyr'  to  those  who   were  exe* 

Vrimitive  Christianity,  parti,  c.  v.  ;  cuted  for  these  offences. 
Kortholt     Be     Calumniis    contra 


J-24  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

bo  anticipate  the  time,  that  so  speedily  arrived,  when,  amid 
the  wailings  of  the  worshippers,  the  idols  and  the  temples 
were  shattered,  and  when  all  who  practised  the  religious 
ceremonies  of  their  forefathers  were  subject  to  the  penalty  of 
ileath. 

There  has  probably  never  existed  upon  earth  a  communiiy 
whose  members  were  bound  to  one  another  by  a  deeper  or  a 
piu'er  affection  than  the  Christians,  in  the  days  of  the  perse- 
cution. There  has  probably  never  existed  a  community 
which  exhibited  in  its  dealings  with  crime  a  gentler  or  more 
judicious  kindness,  which  combined  more  happily  an  iin- 
Hinching  opposition  to  sin  with  a  boundless  charity  to  the 
sinner,  and  which  was  in  consequence  more  successful  in 
reclaiming  and  transforming  the  most  ^dcious  of  mankind. 
There  has,  however,  also  never  existed  a  community  which 
displayed  more  c^ear'y  the  intolei*ance  that  would  necessarily 
follow  its  triumph.  Very  early  ti-adition  has  related  three 
anecdotes  of  the  apost'e  Jolm  which  illustrate  faithfully  this 
triple  aspect  of  the  Church.  It  is  said  that  when  the 
assemblies  of  the  Christians  thi-onged  around  him  to  hear 
some  exhortation  from  his  lips,  the  only  words  he  would 
utter  were,  '  My  little  childi-en,  love  one  another ;'  for  in 
this,  he  said,  is  comprised  the  entire  law.  It  is  said  that  a 
young  man  he  had  once  confided  to  the  charge  of  a  bishop, 
having  fallen  into  the  ways  of  vice,  and  become  the  captain 
of  a  band  of  robbers,  the  apostle,  on  hearing  of  it,  bitterly 
reproached  the  neghgence  of  the  pastor,  and,  though  ia 
extreme  old  age,  betook  himself  to  the  mountains  till  he  had 
been  captm-ed  by  the  robbei-s,  when,  falling  with  teai-s  on  the 
neck  of  the  cliief,  he  restored  him  to  the  path  of  virtue. 
It  is  said  that  the  same  apostle,  once  seeing  the  heretic 
Cerinthus  in  an  establishment  of  baths  into  which  he  liad 
entered,  immediately  rushed  forth,  fearing  lest  the  roof  shotdd 
fall  because  a  heretic  was  beneath  it.^     All  that  fierce  hatred 

•  The  first  of  these  anecdotes     Ly  St.  Clement  of  Al-^^xandria,  the 
Is   told  by  St.  Jerome,  the  second     third  bj-  St.  Irenseus. 


THE    CONTERSION    OF    ROM! 


425 


R'liJcli  diu'iug  the  Aiian  and  Donatist  controversies  convulsed 
tlie  Empire,  and  which  in  later  times  has  deluged  the  world 
with  blood,  may  l^e  traced  in  the  Church  long  before  the 
convei-sion  of  Constantine.  Already,  in  the  second  century 
it  was  the  rule  that  the  orthodox  Christian  should  hold  m 
convci-sation,  should  interchange  none  of  the  most  ordinary 
coui-tesies  of  life,  with  the  excommunicated  or  the  heretic' 
Common  sufferings  were  impotent  to  assuage  the  animosity, 
and  the  purest  and  fondest  rehitions  of  life  were  polluted  by 
the  new  intolerance.  The  Decian  persecution  had  scarcely 
closed,  when  St.  Cypiian  wrote  his  treatise  to  maintain  that 
it  is  no  more  possible  to  be  saved  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
Chiu'ch,  than  it  was  during  the  deluge  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
ark ;  that  martyixlom  itself  has  no  power  to  efface  the  guilt  of 
schism  ;  and  that  the  heretic,  who  for  his  master's  cause 
expii-ed  in  tortures  upon  the  earth,  passed  at  once,  by  that 
master's  decree,  into  an  eternity  of  torment  in  hell !  ^     Even 


'  The  sevfre  discipline  of  the 
early  Church  on  this  point  has 
"heen  amply  treated  in  Marshall's 
Fevitential  Discipline  of  the  l'ri?ni- 
tive  Church  (first  published  in  1714, 
but  reprinted  in  the  library  of 
Anglo-Catholic  theology),  and  in 
Bingham's  Antiquities  of  the  Chris- 
iia)i  Church,  Tol.vi.  {Oxford.  1855). 
The  later  saints  continually  dwelt 
upon  this  duty  fif  separation.  Thus, 
'  ."St.  Theodore  de  Pherme  disoit, 
que  quand  une  person ne  dont  nous 
etions  amis  estoit  tombee  dans  la 
fornication,  nous  devious  lay  donner 
la  main  et  faire  notre  possible  pour 
le  relever;  mais  que  s'il  estoit 
tombe  dans  quelqne  erreur  contre 
la  foi,  et  qu'il  ne  voulust  pas  sVn 
corriger  apres  les  premieres  re- 
monstrances, il  falloit  I'abandonner 
promptement  et  rompre  toute 
ami>i^  avec  lu  '^e  peur  qu'en 
nous  amusant  ?  le  v  mloir  retirer 
de  ce  gouffre  ilne  nous  y  eutrainast 
3& 


nous-memes.'  —  Tillemont,      Mem. 
EccUs.  U)me  xii.  p.  367. 

^  '  Habere  jam  non  potest  Deum 
patrem  qui  ecclesiam  non  habet 
matrem.  Si  potuit  evadere  quis- 
quam  qui  extra  arcam  Noe  fuit, 
et  qui  extra  ecclesiam  foris  fuerit 
evad.it  .  .  .  hanc  unitatem  qui  non 
tenet  .  .  .  vitam  non  tenet  et  salu- 
tem  .  .  .  esse  martyr  non  potest 
qui  in  ecclesia  non  est.  .  .  .  Cum 
Deo  manere  non  possunt  qui  esse 
in  ecclesia  Dei  unanimes  noluerunt. 
Ardeant  licet  flammis  et  ignibus 
traditi,  vel  objocti  bestiis  animas 
suas  ponunt,  non  erit  ilia  fidei 
corona,  sed  poena  perfidife,  neo 
religiosse  virtutis  exitus  glorioeua 
sed  desperationis  interitns.  Occidi 
talis  potest,  coronari  non  potest. 
Sic  se  Christianum  esse  profitetc; 
quo  modo  et  Christum  diabolus 
ssepementitur.'--  Cyprian,  Dc  Unit. 
Ecvles. 


t26  IIISTOIIT    OF    EUROrEA:>    MORALS. 

Ln  tlie  arena  the  Catliolic  martyi^s  withdrew  from  the  ]Mon- 
tanists,  lest  they  should  be  mingled  with  the  heretics  in 
death.  ^  At  a  later  period  St.  Augustine  relates  that,  wheu 
he  vFas  a  Manichean,  his  mother  for  a  time  refused  even  to 
eafc  at  the  same  table  with  her  erring  child. ^  \Yhen  St. 
Ambrose  not  only  defended  the  act  of  a  Christian  bisho}), 
who  had  burnt  down  a  synagogue  of  the  Jews,  but  denounced 
ar>  a  deadly  ciime  the  decree  of  the  Government  which  ordered 
it  to  be  rebuilt ;  ^  when  the  same  saint,  in  advocating  the 
plunder  of  the  vestal  virgins,  maintained  the  doctrine  that  it 
is  criminal  for  a  Cliristian  State  to  gi-ant  any  endowment  to 
the  ministers  of  any  religion  but  his  own,"*  which  it  has 
needed  all  the  efforts  of  modei-n  liberalism  to  eiface  from 
lesrislation,  he  was  but  followincj  in  the  traces  of  those  earlier 
Christians,  who  would  not  even  wear  a  laurel  crown,-^  or 
join  in  the  most  innocent  civic  festival,  lest  they  should 
appear  in  some  indii-ect  way  to  be  acquiescing  in  the  Pagan 
worship.  While  the  apologists  were  maintaining  against  the 
Pagan  persecutors  the  duty  of  tolerance,  the  Sibylline  books, 
which  were  the  popular  literature  of  the  Christians,  were 
filled  with  passionate  anticipations  of  the  violent  destruction 
of  the  Pagan  temples.^  And  no  sooner  had  Christianity 
mounted  the  thi-one  than  the  policy  they  foreshadowed  became 
ascendant.  The  indifference  or  worldly  sagacity  of  some  of 
the  rulers,  and  the  imposing  number  of  the  Pagans,  delayed, 
no  doubt,  the  final  consummation ;  but,  from  the  time  of 
Constantino,  restrictive  laws  were  put  in  force,  the  infiuence 
of  the  ecclesiastics  was  ceaselessly  exerted  in  their  favour, 
and  no  sagacious  man  could  fail  to  anticipate  the  speedy  and 


'  Eusebiiis,  v.    G.  ^  TertuU.  Dc  Corona. 

'^Confess,  iii.  11.  She  was  ^  ls[.\\T[i:mii  Hist.of  Cknsziani{i\ 
afterwards  permitted  by  a  special     vol  ii  pp.  1 16-125.     It  is  remark- 

revelntion  to  sit  at  the  same  table     able  that  the  Serapeum  of  i^lexan- 

with  her  son!  dria  was,  in   the  Sibylline   books, 

*  Ep.  xl.  specially   menaced    with    destruo- 

♦  E]).  xviii.  tion. 


THE    lONVERSIO>'    OF    HOME.  427 

absolute  proscription  of  the  Pagan  worship.  It  is  related  of 
the  philosojiher  Antoninus,  the  son  of  the  Pagan  prophetess 
Sospitra,  that,  standing  one  day  with  his  disciples  before  that 
noble  temple  of  Sera[)is,  at  Alexandria,  which  was  one  of  the 
wonders  of  ancient  art,  and  which  was  destined  soon  after  to 
perish  by  the  rude  hands  of  the  Christian  monks,  the  prophetic 
spirit  of  his  mother  fell  upon  him.  Like  another  prophet 
before  another  shrine,  he  appalled  his  hearers  by  the  predic 
tion  of  the  ap}n-oaching  ruin.  The  time  would  come,  he  said, 
when  the  glorious  edifice  before  them  would  be  overthrown, 
the  carved  images  would  be  defaced,  the  temples  of  the  gods 
would  be  turned  into  the  sepulchres  of  the  dead,  and  a  great 
darkness  would  fall  upon  mankind ! ' 

And,  besides  the  liberty  of  worship,  the  liberty  of  thought 
and  of  expression,  which  was  the  supreme  attainment  of  Poman 
civilisation,  was  in  peril.  The  new  religion,  unlike  that 
which  was  disappearing,  claimed  to  dictate  the  opinions  as 
well  as  the  actions  of  men,  and  its  teachers  stigmatised  as  an 
atrocious  crime  the  free  expression  of  every  opinion  ou 
religious  mattei's  diverging  from  their  own.  Of  all  the  forms 
of  liberty,  it  was  this  which  lasted  the  longest,  and  was  the 
most  dearly  prized.  Even  after  Constantine,  the  Pagans 
Ijibanius,  Themistius,  Symmachus,  and  Sallust  enforced  their 
views  with  a  freedom  that  contrasts  remarkably  with  the  re- 
straints imposed  upon  their  worship,  and  the  beautiful  friend- 
ships of  St.  Basil  and  Libanius,  of  Synesius  and  Hypatia,  are 
among  the  most  touching  episodes  of  theii-  time.  But  though 
the  traditions  of  Pagan  freedom,  and  the  true  Catholicism  of 
Justin  Martyi"  a.ad  Origeu,  lingered  long,  it  was  inevitable 
that  error,  being  deemed  criminal,  should  bo  made  penal. 

^ 'Enm.-pms,  Lives  of  the  SopMsts.  Papans,  under  the  guidance  of  a 

Ennapius  gives  an  extremely  pa-  philosopher  named  Olympus,  made 

thetic  account  of  the  dowufall  of  a  desperate  effort  to  defend  their 

this  temple.     There  is  a  Christian  temple.     The  whole  story  is  very 

account     in     Theodoret      (v.  22).  finely  told  by  Dean  Milman.  (^i-?'. 

Theophilus,  Bishop  of  Alexandria,  of  Christianity,  vol.  iii.  pp.  68-72.) 
was  the  leader  of  the  monks.     The 


128  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

The  dogm?.tism  of  Athanasiiis  and  Augustine,  the  increasius; 
power  of  the  clergy,  and  the  fanaticism  of  the  monks,  hastened 
the  end.  Tne  suppression  of  all  religions  hut  one  by  Theo- 
dosius,  the  murder  of  Hypatia  at  Alexandria  by  the  monies 
of  Cyril,  and  the  closing  by  Justinian  of  the  schools  of  Athens, 
are  the  three  ev^ents  which  maik  the  decisive  overthrow  of 
intellectual  freedom.  A  thousand  years  had  rolled  away 
before  that  freedom  was  in  part  restored. 

The  considerations  I  have  briefly  enumerated  should  not 
in  the  smallest  degree  detrax^t  from  the  admiration  due  to  ihe 
surpassing  courage,  to  the  pure,  touching,  and  sacred  virtues 
of  the  Christian  martyi-s ;  but  they  in  some  degree  palliate 
the  conduct  of  the  persecutors,  among  whom  must  be  included 
one  emperor,  who  was  probably,  on  the  whole,  the  best  and 
most  humane  sovereign  who  has  ever  sat  upon  a  throne,  and 
at  least  two  others,  who  were  considerably  above  the  average 
of  virtue.  ^AHien,  combined  with  the  indifference  to  human 
suffering,  the  thirst  for  blood,  which  the  spectacles  of  the 
amphitheatre  had  engendered,  they  assuredly  make  the  per- 
secutions abundantly  explicable.  They  show  that  if  it  can  be 
»^roved  that  Christian  persecutions  sprang  from  the  doctrine 
of  exclusive  salvation,  the  fact  that  the  Roman  Pagans,  who 
did  not  hold  that  doctrine,  also  persecuted,  need  not  cause 
the  slightest  perplexity.  That  the  persecutions  of  Chris- 
tianity by  the  Roman  emperors,  severe  as  they  undoubtedly 
were,  were  not  of  such  a  continuous  nature  as  wholly  to 
counteract  the  vast  moral,  social,  and  intellectual  agencies 
that  were  favourable  to  its  spread,  a  feAv  dates  will  show. 

We  have  seen  that  when  the  Egyptian  rites  were  intro- 
(hiced  into  Rome,  they  were  met  liy  prompt  and  energetic 
jneasures  of  repression ;  that  these  measures  were  agaiu  and 
again  repeated,  but  that  at  last,  when  they  proved  ineffectuaU 
the  governors  desisted  from  their  opjwsition,  and  the  new 
worohip  assumed  a  recognised  place.  The  liistory  of  Chris- 
tianity, LQ  its  relation  to  the  Government,  is  the  reverse  of 


THE    CONVERSION    OE    ROME.  429 

this.  Its  fii"st  introduction  into  Home  appears  to  have  been 
altogether  unopposed.  Tei-tullian  asserts  that  Tiberius,  on 
the  ground  of  a  report  from  Pontius  Pilate,  desu-ed  to  eii.vol 
Ch)  ist  among  the  Roman  gods,  but  tliat  the  Senate  rejected  t)'*-: 
proposal ;  but  this  assertion,  which  is  altogether  uij.-5\ipported 
by  trustworthy  evidence,  and  is,  intrinsically,  extremely 
inipi'obable,  is  now  generally  recognised  as  false.  ^  An  iso- 
lated passage  of  Suetonius  states  that  in  the  time  of  Claudius 
*  the  Jews,  being  continually  rioting,  at  the  instigation  of  a 
certain  Chrestus,'  ^  were  expelled  from  the  city ;  but  no 
Christian  writer  speaks  of  his  co-religionists  being  disturbed 
in  this  reign,  wdiile  all,  with  a  peifect  imanimity,  and  with 
great  emphasis,  describe  Nero  as  the  first  persecutor.  His 
])ersecution  began  at  the  close  of  a.d.  64.^  It  was  directed 
against  Christians,  not  ostensibly  on  the  ground  of  their 
religion,  but  because  they  were  falsely  accused  of  having  set 
fire  to  Rome,  and  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  it  extended 
beyond  the  city.'*     It  had  also  this  peculiarity,  that,  being 


'  ApoJogij,  V.     The  overwhelm-  tn?,  :  '  Eum  immutata  litera  Chres- 

ing  difficulties  attending  this  as-  timi  solent  dicere.' — Div.  Inst.iv.  7- 

sertion  are  well  stated  bv  Gibbon,  ^  This    persecution  is  fully  do- 

ch.  xA-i.     Traces  of  this  fable  may  scribed  l)y  Tacitus  {AnnaL  xv.  44), 

be  found  in  Justin  Martyr.     The  and   briefly   noticed  by  Suetonius 

fi'eedom  of  tho  Christian  worship  (Nero,  xvi.). 

at   Kome  appears    not    only    from  *  This   has    been    a    matter   of 

the  unanimity  with  which  Christian  very   great  controversy.     Looking 

writers  date    their    troubles    from  at  the  question   apart  from   direct 

Nero,   but  also    from   the   express  testimony,   it  appears    improbable 

statement  in  Acts  xxviii.  31.  thit  a  persecution  directed  against 

-'Judaeos.    impulsore  Chrcsto,  the   Christians  on    the   charge    of 

a^-sidue    tumultuantes,    Roma   ex-  having  burnt   Rome,  should  have 

pulit.' — Sueton.  Claud,  xxv.     This  extended  to  Christians  wbo  did  not 

banishment  of  the   Jews  is  men-  live   near   Rome.      On    the  other 

lionei  in   Acts  xviii.  2,  but  is  not  hand,    it    has    been    argued    th.it 

(here   Cinnected   in   any  way  with  Tacitus  speaks  of  them   as   'hand 

Clirisiianity.     A   passage  in  Dion  perinde  in  crimine  incendii.  quam 

Cassias  (Ix.  6)  is  supp  sed  to  refer  odio  humani  generis  convicti ;'  and 

to  the  same  transaction.     Lactan-  it  has  been  maintained  that '  hatred 

tins  notices  that  the  Pagans  were  of  the  human  race  '  was  treated  as 

&.rcu?tomed  to  call  Christus,  Chrcs-  a  crime,  and  punished  in  the  pro- 


480 


HISTOKT    OF    EDEOPEAN    MORALS. 


directed  against  the  Christians  not  as  Christians,  but  as  incen- 
diaries, it  was  impossible  to  escape  from  it  by  apostasy.  Within 
the  walls  of  Rome  it  raged  with  great  fury.  The  Christians,  who 
had  been  for  many  years  ^  proselytising  without  restraint  in  tho 
gi-eat  confluence  of  nations,  and  amid  the  disintegration  of 
old  beliefs,  had  become  a  formidable  body.  They  were,  we 
learn  from  Tacitus,  profoundly  unpoj^mlar;  but  the  hideous 
tortures  to  which  Nero  subjected  them,  and  the  conviction 
that,  whatever  other  crimes  -^^ey  might  have  committed,  they 
were  not  guilty  of  setting  fire  to  the  city,  awoke  general  pity. 
Some  of  them,  clad  in  skins  of  wild  beasts,  were  torn  by 
dogs.     Others,  arrayed  in  shii-ts  of  pitch,  were  burnt  alive  lq 


vineea.  But  this  is,  I  think,  ex- 
tremely far-fetclied  ;  and  it  is  evi- 
dent from  the  sequel  that  the 
Christians  at  Rome  were  burnt 
as  incendi3?ies,  and  that  it  was 
the  conviction  that  they  were  not 
guilty  of  that  crime  that  extorted 
the  pity  which  Tacitus  notices. 
There  is  also  no  reference  in 
Tacitus  to  any  persecution  beyond 
the  walls.  If  we  pass  to  the 
Christian  evidence,  a  Spanish  in- 
scription referring  to  the  Neronian 
persecution,  which  was  once  ;ip- 
pealed  to  as  decisive,  is  now  unani- 
mously admitted  to  be  a  forgery. 
Jn  the  fourth  century,  however. 
Snip.  Severas  (lib.  ii.)  and  Orosius 
(Hist.  vii.  7)  declared  that  general 
laws  condemnatory  of  Christianity 
were  promulgated  by  Nero ;  but 
the  testimony  of  credulous  his- 
torians who  wroe  so  long  after 
the  event  is  not  of  much  value. 
Rossi,  however,  imagines  tliat  a 
fragment  of  an  inscription  found 
at  Pompeii  indicates  a  general 
lasF  against  Christians.  See  his 
Bhlletino  d'Archeoloqia  Crisiiana 
(Roma,  Dec.  1865),  which,  however^ 
should   be  compared  with  'he  very 


remarkable  Compte  rendu  of  M. 
Aube,  Acad,  d' s  Ivscrip.  et  Belles- 
li  tires,  Juin  1866.  These  two  papers 
contain  an  almost  complete  dis- 
cussion of  the  persecutions  of  Nero 
and  Domitian.  Gibbon  thinks  it 
quite  certiin  the  persecution  was 
confined  to  the  city;  Mosheim 
(Ecd.  Hist.  i.  p.  71)  adopts  the 
opposiie  view,  and  appeals  to  the 
passage  in  Tertullian  {Ap  v.),  in 
which  he  speaks  of  '  leges  istue  .  .  . 
quas  Trajanus  ex  parte  frustratus 
est,  vitando  inqniri  Cliristianos,'  as 
implying  the  existence  of  special 
laws  against  the  Christians.  This 
passage,  however,  may  merely 
refer  to  the  general  law  against 
unauthorisKl  religions,  which  Ter- 
tullian notices  in  this  very  chapter ; 
and  Pliny,  in  his  famous  letter, 
does  not  show  any  knowledga  of 
the  existence  of  special  legisl.tiou 
about  the  Christians. 

'  Ecclesiastical  historians  nain- 
tain,  but  not  on  very  strong  evi- 
dence, that  the  Church  of  Rome 
was  founded  by  St.  PetfT,  a.d.  42 
or  44.  St.  Paul  came  to  Rom* 
A.D.  61. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  431 

Ncii'o's  garden.'  Others  were  affixed  to  crosses.  Great  mul- 
titudes perished.  The  deep  impression  the  persecution  made 
on  the  Christian  mind  is  shown  in  the  whole  literature  of  the 
Sibyls,  which  arose  soon  after,  in  which  Nero  is  asually  the 
central  figure,  and  by  the  belief,  that  lingei'ed  for  centuj-iL'S, 
that  the  tyrant  was  yet  alive,  and  would  I'eturn  once  more 
as  the  immediate  piecursor  of  Antichi-ist,  to  inflict  the  last 
great  persecution  upon  the  Chur^-h.^ 

Nero  died  a.d.  68.  From  thrt  time,  for  at  least  twenty- 
seven  years,  the  Church  enjoyed  absolute  repose.  There  is 
no  credible  evidence  whatevei-  of  the  smallest  interference 
with  its  freedom  till  the  last  year  of  the  reign  of  Domitian  ; 
and  a  striking  illustration  of  the  fearlessness  with  which  it 
exhibited  itself  to  the  world  has  been  lately  furnished  in  the 
discovery,  near  Rome,  of  a  large  and  handsome  porch  leading 
to  a  Christian  catacomb,  built  above  ground  between  the 
reigns  of  Nero  and  Domitian,  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  one  of  the  principal  highways.^  The  long  reign  of  Domitian, 
though  it  may  have  been  surpassed  in  ferocity,  was  never 
surpassed  in  the  Roman  annals  in  the  skilfulness  and  the 
])ersistence  of  its  tyi-anny.  The  Stoics  and  literary  classes, 
who  upheld  the  traditions  of  political  freedom,  and  who  had 

'  On  this  horrible  punishment  notion    that  Nero   was   yet    alive 

tfee  Juvenal,  Sat.  i.  155-157.  lingered   long,   and    twenty   years 

'^  Lactantius,  in  the  fourth  cen-  after  his  death  an  adventurer  pre- 

tury,    speaks   of    this    opinion   as  tending  to   be  Nero  was  enthusi- 

still  held  by  some  '  madmen '(X'e  astically  received  by  the  Parthians. 

Mort.  Pcrscc.   cnp.   ii.)  ;    Lut  Sulp.  (Sueton.  X/ro,  hni.) 
Severus  {Hist.  lib.  ii.)  speaks  of  it  ^  See  the  full  description  of  it 

as  a  common  notion,  and    he   says  in      Rossi's     Bullclino     d'Archeol. 

t!:at  St.  Mrirtin,  when  asked  about  Crist.  Dec.  1865.   Eui-obius  (iii.  17) 

the  end  of  the  world,    answered,  and    Tertullian    {Apol.    v.)    have 

'  Neronem   et    Anricliristum    prius  expressly  noticed  the  very  remark- 

esse    vontnros:   Neronem    in    occi-  able  fact  that  Vespasian,  who  waa 

dentali      plaga     regibus    subactis  a  bitter  enemy  to  the  Jews,    and 

decent,  iraperaturum,  persecutionem  who  exiled  all  the    loading  Stoical 

aiitem  ab  eo  hactenus  excrcendam  philosophers      except      Musoiiius, 

Mt    idola    gentium    coli    cogat.' —  never  troubled  the  Christians. 
Dial.  ii.     Among  the  Pagims,  the 


432  HISTORY    OF    EDROrEAN    MORALS. 

already  suffered  mucli  at  the  hands  of  Vespasian,  woi'C  per- 
secuted with  relentless  animosity.  Metius  Modestus,  Aru- 
Icniis  Rusticus,  Senecio,  Helvidius,  Dion  Clu-ysostom,  the 
younger  Priscus,  Junius  Mauricus,  Artemidorus,  Euphrates, 
Epictetus,  Arria,  Fannia,  and  Gratilla  v/ere  either  killed  or 
banished.*  No  measures,  however,  appear  to  have  been 
taken  against  the  Christians  till  a.d.  95,  when  a  short  and 
apparently  not  very  severe  persecution,  concerning  which 
our  information  is  both  scanty  and  conflicting,  was  directed 
against  them.  Of  the  special  cause  that  produced  it  we  are 
loft  in  much  doubt.  Eusebius  mentions,  on  the  not  very 
trustworthy  authority  of  Hegesippus,  that  the  emperor, 
having  heard  of  the  existence  of  the  grandchildren  of  Judas, 
the  brother  of  Christ,  ordered  them  to  be  brought  before  him, 
as  being  of  the  family  of  David,  and  therefore  possible  pre- 
tenders to  the  throne  ;  but  on  finding  that  they  were  simple 
peasants,  and  that  the  promised  kingdom  of  which  they  spoke 
was  a  spu'itual  one,  he  dismissed  them  in  peace,  and  aiTested 
the  persecution  he  had  begun.^  A  Pagan  historian  states 
that,  the  finances  of  the  Empire  being  exhausted  by  lavish 
expenditure  in  public  games,  Domitian,  in  order  to  replenish 
his  exchequer,  resorted  to  a  severe  and  special  taxation  of  the 
Jews ;  that  some  of  these,  in  order  to  evade  the  impost, 
concealed  their  worship,  w-hile  others,  who  are  supposed  to 
have  been  Christians,  are  described  as  following  the  Jewish 
rites  without  being  professed  Jews.^  Perhaps,  however,  the 
simplest  explanation  is  the  truest,  and  the  persecution  may 
be  ascribed  to  the  antipathy  which  a  despot  like  Domitian 


^  See  a  pathetic  letter  of  Pliny,  rent  vitam.  vel  dipsimulata  origino 

lib.  iii.  Ej).  xi.  and  also  lib.  i.  Ejp.  imposita  genti  tribnta  nonpepen- 

V.  and  the  Agricola  of  Tacitus.  dissent.'— Suet  on.  Bomit.  xii.  Sue- 

*  Euseb.  iii.  20.  tonius  adds  that,  when    a   young 


s  ( 


-    Prfeter      cseteros      Judaicus  man,  he  saw  an  old  man  of  ninety 

fiscus   acerbissime   actus   est.     Ad  examined  before  a  large  assembly 

quem  deferebantur,  qui  vel  impro-  to  ascertain  Avhether  he  vas  cir- 

fessi  Judaieam  intra  urbem  vive-  cumcised. 


THE    Cu^^VERSIO^'    OF    ROME. 


433 


must  necessarily  have  felt  to  an  institution  which,  though  it 
did  not,  like  Stoicism,  resist  his  policy,  at  least  exercised 
a  vast  influence  altogether  removed  fiom  his  control.  St. 
John,  who  was  then  a  very  old  man,  is  said  to  have  been  at 
this  time  exiled  to  Fatmos.  F]a^dus  Clemens,  a  consul,  and 
B  relative  of  the  emperor,  was  put  to  death.  His  wife,  or, 
according  to  another  account,  his  niece  Domitilla,  was  ban- 
ished, according  to  one  account,  to  the  island  of  Pontia,  ac- 
cording to  another,  to  the  island  of  Pandataria,  and  many 
others  wei-e  compelled  to  accompany  her  into  exile. '  Numbers, 
we  are  told, '  accused  of  conversion  to  impiety  or  Jewish  rites,' 
were  condemned.  Some  were  killed,  and  others  deprived  of 
their  offices.^  Of  the  cessation  of  the  persecution  there  are 
two  different  versions.  Tei-tnllian^  and  Eusebius^  say  that 
the  tyrant  speedily  revoked  his  edict,  and  restored  those  who 
had  been  banished  ;  but  according  to  Lactantius  these  mea- 
sures were  not  taken  till  after  the  death  of  Domitian,^  and 


•  Euseb.  iii.  18. 

-  See  the  aecoimts  of  these 
transactions  in  Xiphiiin,  the  ab- 
breA'iator  of  Dion  Cassius  (Ixvii. 
14);  Euseb.  iii.  17-18.  Suetonius 
notices  {Domit.  xv.)  tliat  Flavins 
Clemens  (whom  ho  calls  a  man 
'  contemptissimae  iiierti;e')  was 
killed  'ex  tenuissima  suspicione.' 
The  language  of  Xiphiiin,  who 
says  he  was  killed  for  '  impiety 
and  Jewish  rites ; '  the  express 
assertion  ot  Eusebius,  that  it  was 
for  Christianity ;  and  the  declara- 
tion of  Tertullian,  that  Christians 
were  persecuted  at  the  close  of  this 
reign,  leave,  I  think,  little  doubt 
that  this  execution  was  connected 
with  Christianity,  though  some 
writers  have  questioned  it.  At  the 
same  time,  it  is  very  probable,  as 
Mr.  Meri  vale  thinks  (/i/^7!.  of  Rome, 
7d  vii.  pp.  381-384),  that  though 
the  pretext  of  the  execution  might 
aa^e    been     religiouS;     the     real 


motive  was  political  jealousy. 
Uoniitian  had  already  put  to  death 
the  brother  of  Flavins  Clemens 
on  the  charge  of  treason.  Hi.g 
sons  had  been  recognised  as  suc- 
cessors to  the  throne,  and  at  the 
time  of  his  execution  another 
leading  noble  named  Glabrio  was 
accused  of  having  fought  in  the 
arena.  Some  ecclesiastical  histo- 
rians have  imagined  that  there 
may  have  been  two  Doniitillas— the 
wife  and  niece  of  Flavins  Clemens. 
The  islands  of  Pontia  and  Pan- 
dataria were  close  to  one  another. 

'  '  Tentaverat  et  Domitianus, 
portio  Neronis  de  crudelitrite  ;  sed 
qua  et  homo  facile  coeptum  repres- 
sit,  rcstitutis  etiam  quos  relega- 
verat.'  (Ajjol.  5.)  It  will  be  ob- 
served that  Tertullian  makes  no 
mention  of  any  punishment  more 
severe  than  exile. 

^  Euseb.  iii.  20. 

*  Dc  Mort.  Per  sec.  iii. 


4o4  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

this  latter  statement  is  corroborated  by  the  assertion  ol 
Dion  Cassins,  that  ISTerva,  upon  his  accession,  'absolved 
those  who  were  accused  of  impiety,  and  recalled  the  exiles.'^ 

When  we  consider  the  very  short  time  during  which  this 
persecution  lasted,  and  the  very  slight  notice  that  was  taken 
of  it,  we  may  faii'ly,  I  think,  conclude  that  it  was  not  of  a 
nature  to  check  in  any  appreciable  degree  a  strong  religious 
movement  like  that  of  Christianity.  The  assassination  of 
Domitian  introduces  us  to  the  golden  age  of  the  Roman 
Empire.  In  the  eyes  of  the  Pagan  historian,  the  period 
from  the  accession  of  Nerva,  in  a.d.  96,  to  the  death  of 
Marcus  Aurelius,  in  a.d.  180,  is  memorable  as  a  period  of 
uniform  good  government,  of  rapidly  advancing  humanity, 
of  great  legislative  reforms,  and  of  a  peace  which  was  veiy 
rarely  seriously  broken.  To  the  Christian  historian  it  is 
still  more  remarkable,  as  one  of  the  most  critical  periods  in 
the  history  of  his  faith.  The  Church  entered  into  it  con- 
siderable indeed,  as  a  sect,  but  not  large  enough  to  be  reckoned 
an  important  power  in  the  Empire.  It  emerged  from  it  so 
increased  in  its  numbers,  and  so  extended  in  its  ramifications, 
that  it  might  fairly  defy  the  most  formidable  assaults.  It 
remains,  therefore,  to  be  seen  whether  the  opposition  against 
which,  during  these  eighty-four  years,  it  had  so  successfully 
struggled  was  of  such  a  kind  and  intensity  that  the  triumph 
must  be  regarded  as  a  miracle. 

Nearly  at  the  close  of  this  period,  during  the  persecution 
of  Marcus  Aurelius,  St.  Mclito,  Bishop  of  Sardis,  wi'ote  a 
letter  of  expostulation  to  the  emperor,  in  which  he  explicitly 
ai>serts  that  in  Asia  the  persecution  of  the  pious  was  an 
event  which  '  had  never  before  occurred,'  and  was  the  result 
of  'ne^v  and  strange  decrees;'  that  the  ancestors  of  the 
emj)ei"or   were   accustomed    to    honour   the    Christian    faHh 

'  Xiphihn,  Ixviii.  1.  An  anno-  just  before  the  death  of  the 
tatur  to  Mosheim  conjectures  that  emperor,  but  not  acted  on  till 
the  edict   mav    haxe   been    issued     after  it. 


THE    COJ^VEESION    OF    ROME.  435 

Mike  other  religions; '  and  that  '  Nero  and  Domitian  alone ' 
had  been  hostile  to  it.'  Rather  more  than  twenty  years 
later,  Tertullian  asserted,  in  language  equally  distinct  and 
emphatic,  that  the  two  persecutors  of  the  Christians  were 
.Nero  and  Domitian,  and  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  namo 
a  single  good  sovereign  who  had  molested  them.  Marcus 
Aurelius  himself,  Tertullian  refuses  to  number  among  the 
persecutors,  and,  even  relying  upon  a  letter  which  was  falsely 
imputed  to  him,  eni-o!s  him  among  the  protectors  of  the 
Church.^  About  a  century  later,  Lactantius,  reviewing  the 
history  of  the  persecutions,  declared  that  the  good  sovereigns 
who  followed  Domitian  abstained  from  persecuting,  and 
passes  at  once  from  the  persecution  of  Domitian  to  that  of 
Decius.  Having  noticed  the  measures  of  the  former  em- 
peror, he  proceeds  :  '  The  acts  of  the  tyrant  being  revoked, 
the  Church  was  not  only  restored  to  its  former  state,  but 
shone  forth  with  a  greater  splendour  and  hixuriance ;  and  a 
period  following  in  which  many  good  sovereigns  wielded  the 
Imperial  sceptre,  it  suffered  no  assaults  from  its  enemies,  but 
stretched  out  its  hands  to  the  east  and  to  the  west ;  .  .  . 
but  at  last  the  long  peace  was  broken.  After  many  yeai-s, 
that  hateful  monster  Decins  arose,  who  troubled  the  Church.'^ 
We  have  here  three  separate  passages,  from  which  we 
may  conclusively  infer  that  the  normal  .and  habitual  con- 
dition of  the  Christians  during  the  eighty -four  years  we  are 
consideiing,  a.nd,  if  we  accept  the  last  two  passages,  during  a 
much  longer  period,  was  a  condition  of  peace,  but  that  peace 
was  not  absolutely  unbroken.  The  Christian  Church,  which 
was  at  first  regarded  simp^y  as  a  branch  of  Jiulaism,  had 
begun  to  be  i-ecognised  as  a  separate  body,  and  tlie  Eoman 
law   professedly  tolerated  only  those  religions  '^hich   were 


Euseb.  iv.  26.     The  whulc  of  Icghun  Solesmense. 
tl';is    apoL  gy    has    been    recently  ^  jipol,  5. 

recovered,     and     transLnted     into  ^  Lactant.  De  Mort.  Persec.  3-4. 

Latin  by  M,  Renan  in  the  Sjiici- 


iSn  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS.  t 

expressly  authorised.  It  is  indeed  true  that  with  the  ex- 
tension of  the  Empire,  and  especially  of  the  city,  the  theory, 
or  at  least  the  pi-actice,  of  religious  legislation  had  been 
profonr.dly  modified.  Fii-st  of  all,  certain  religions,  of  vrhich 
che  Jewish  was  one,  were  oflScially  recognised,  and  then 
many  othei*s,  without  being  expressly  authorised,  were  tole- 
rated. In  this  manner,  all  attempts  to  resist  the  ton-ent 
of  Oriental  superstitions  proving  vain,  the  legislator  had 
desisted  from  his  efforts,  and  every  form  of  wild  supersti- 
tion was  practised  with  publicity  and  impunity.  Still  the 
laws  forbidding  them  were  unrevoked,  although  they  wert 
suffered  to  remain  for  the  most  part  obsolete,  or  were  at 
least  only  put  in  action  on  the  occasion  of  some  special 
scandal,  or  of  some  real  or  apprehended  political  danger. 
The  municipal  and  provincial  independence  under  the  Em- 
pii-e  was,  however,  so  large,  that  very  much  depended  on  the 
character  of  the  local  governor ;  and  it  continually  happened 
that  in  one  jirovince  the  Chiistians  were  unmolested  or 
favoured,  while  in  the  adjoining  province  they  were  severely 
persecuted. 

As  we  have  already  seen,  the  Christians  had  for  many 
reasons  become  profoundly  obnoxioiLS  to  the  people.  They 
shared  the  unpopulai-ity  of  the  Jews,  with  whom  they  were 
confounded,  while  the  general  credence  given  to  the  calumnies 
about  the  crimes  said  to  have  been  perpetrated  at  their 
secret  meetuigs,  theii-  abstinence  from  public  amusements, 
and  the  belief  that  their  hostility  to  the  gods  was  the  cause  of 
every  physical  calamity,  were  special  causes  of  antipathy. 
The  history  of  the  period  of  the  Antonines  continually  mani- 
fests the  desire  of  the  populace  to  persecute,  restrained  by 
the  humanity  of  the  rulers.  In  the  short  reign  of  ISTerva 
there  api>ears  to  have  been  no  persecution,  and  our  know- 
led'^e  of  the  official  proceedings  with  reference  to  the  religion 
is  comprised  in  two  sentences  of  a  Pagan  historian,  who  tells 
ug  thit  the  em]ieror  '  absolved  those  who  had  been  convicted 


THE    CONVEPtSiON    OF    ROME.  437 

of  impiety,'  and  •  pej-mitted  no  one  to  be  convicted  of  impiety 
or  Jewish  rites.'  Under  Trajan,  however,  some  serioua 
though  purely  local  disturbances  took  place.  The  emperor 
himself,  though  one  of  the  most  sagacious,  and  in  most 
respects  humane  of  Koman  sovereigns,  was  nervously  jealous 
of  any  societies  or  associations  among  his  subjects,  and  ha«l 
propounded  a  special  edict  against  them ;  but  the  perseculioD 
of  the  Christians  appears  to  have  been  not  so  much  political 
as  popular.  If  we  may  believe  Eusebius,  local  persecutions, 
apparently  of  the  nature  of  riots,  but  sometimes  countenaiiced 
by  provinctial  governors,  broke  out  in  several  quarters  of  the 
Empii-e.  In  Bithynia,  Pliny  the  Yoirnger  was  the  goA^ernor, 
and  he  wrote  a  very  famous  letter  to  Trajan,  in  which  he 
professed  himsr>'if  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  proceedings  to  be 
taken  against  the  Christians,  who  had  already  so  multiplied 
that  the  temples  were  desei*ted,  and  who  weie  arraigned  in 
great  numbers  before  hLs  tribunal.  lie  had,  he  says,  released 
those  who  consented  to  burn  incense  before  the  image  of  the 
emperor,  and  to  curse  Chi-ist,  but  had  caused  those  to  be 
executed  who  persisted  in  their  refusal,  and  who  were  not 
Roman  citizens,  '  not  doubting  that  a  pertinacious  obstinacy 
deserved  punishment.'  He  had  questioned  the  prisoners  as  to 
the  nature  of  theii*  faith,  and  had  not  hesitated  to  seek 
revelations  by  torturing  two  ma'd-servants,  but  had  '  dis- 
covered nothing  but  a  base  and  immoderate  superstition.' 
He  had  asked  the  nature  of  their  secret  services,  and  had 
been  told  that  they  assembled  on  a  certain  day  before  dawn 
to  sing  a  hymn  to  Christ  as  to  a  god ;  that  they  made  a 
vow  to  abstain  from  every  crime,  and  that  they  then,  before 
parting,  partook  together  of  a  harmless  feast,  which,  however, 
they  had  given  up  siuce  the  decree  against  associations.  To 
this  letter  Tiajan  answered  tha.t  Christians,  if  brought  Ijcfore 
the  tribunals  and  convicted,  should  be  punished,  but  that 
they  should  not  be  sought  for ;  that,  if  they  consented  to 
fsacrifice^  no  inquisition  should  be  made  into  their  past  lives, 


i38  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

and  that  no  anonymous  accusations  should  be  received  against 
them.*  In  this  reign  there  are  two  authentic  instances  of 
martyrdom. 2  Simeon,  Bishop  of  Jerusalem,  a  man,  it  is  said, 
one  hundred  and  twenty  years  old,  having  been  accused  by 
the  heretics,  was  tortured  during  several  days,  and  at  lad 
crucified.  Ignatius,  the  Bishop  of  Antioch,  was  arrestod, 
brought  to  Rome,  and,  by  the  order  of  Trajan  himself,  thrown 
to  wild  beasts.  Of  the  cause  of  this  last  act  of  severity  we 
are  left  in  ignorance,  but  it  has  been  noticed  that  about  this 
time  Antioch  had  been  the  scene  of  one  of  those  violent 
earthquakes  w^hich  so  frequently  produced  an  outburst  of 
religious  excitement,^  and  the  character  of  Ignatius,  whc 
was  passionately  desirous  of  martyrdom,  may  have  very 
probably  led  him  to  some  act  of  exceptional  zeal.  The  let- 
ters of  the  martyr  prove  that  at  Rome  the  faith  was  openly 
and  fearlessly  pi-ofessed  ;  the  Government  during  the  nine- 
teen yeai'S  of  this  reign  never  appears  to  have  taken  any 
initiative  against  the  Christians,  and,  in  spite  of  occasional 
local  tumults,  there  was  nothing  resembling  a  general  per- 
secution. 

Dui-ing  the  two  following  leigns,  the  Government  was 
more  decidedly  fjivourable  to  the  Chiistians.  Hadrian, 
having  heard  that  the  populace  at  the  public  games  fre- 
quently called  for  their  execution,  issued  an  edict  in  which 
he  commanded  that  none  should  be  punished  simply  in 
obedience  to  the  outcries  against  them,  or  without  a 
formal  trial  and  a  conviction  of  some  offence  against  the 
law,  and  he  ordered  that  all  false  accusers  should  be 
punish ed."*  His  disposition  towards  the  Christians  was  so 
pacific   as   to   give   rise   to   a   legend   that   he  intended   to 


'  Pliny,  Ep.  x.  97-98.  Orosius  {Hist.  vii.   12)  thought  it 

'  Euseb.  lib.  iii.  vas  a  judgment  on  account  of  the 

■  There  is  a  description  of  tnis  persecution  of  the  Christians. 
©ttithquake  in  jMerivale's  Hist,  of  *  Eusebius,   iv.  8-9.     See,  too 

the  Romans,  toI  viii.  pp.  155-156.  Justin  Martyr,  Apol.  i.  68-09. 


IHE    CONVERf^ION    OV    ROME.  439 

cnr'/l  Christ  among  the  gods;^  but  it  is  probable  that 
although  curious  on  religious  matters,  he  regarded  Chris- 
tianity with  the  indifference  of  a  Roman  freetliinker ;  and  a 
letter  is  ascribed  to  him  in  which  he  confounded  it  with  th: 
worship  of  Serapis.^  As  far  as  the  Government  were  con^ 
cerncd,  the  Christians  appear  to  have  been  entirely  unmo- 
lested  ;  but  many  of  them  suffered  dieadful  tortures  at  the 
hands  of  the  Jewish  insurgents,  who  in  this  reign,  with  a 
desperate  but  ill-fated  heroism,  made  one  last  effort  to  regain 
their  freedom."^  The  mutual  hostility  exhibited  at  this  time 
by  the  Jews  and  Chiistians  contributed  to  separate  them  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Pagans,  and  it  is  said  that  when  Hadrian 
forbade  the  Jews  ever  again  to  enter  Jerusalem,  he  recog- 
nised the  distinction  by  gr£inting  a  full  permission  to  the 
Christians.'* 

Antoninus,  v.ho  succeeded  Hadrian,  made  now  efforts  to 
restrain  the  passions  of  the  people  against  the  Christians. 
He  issued  an  edict  commanding  that  they  should  not  be 
molested,  and  when,  as  a  consequence  of  some  earthquakes 
in  Asia  Minor,  the  popular  anger  was  fiercely  roused,  he 
commanded  that  their  accusers  shoidd  be  punished.'^  If  we 
except  these  riots,  the  twenty-three  years  of  his  reign  appear 
to  have  been  years  of  absolute  peace,  which  seems  also  to 
have  continued  during  several  years  of  the  reign  of  Marcus 


'  This  is  mentioned  incidentally  Antoninus  Pius,  has  created  a  good 

by  Lampridius  in  his  Life  of  A.  deal  of  controversy.     Justin  Mart. 

Severus.  {Apol.  i.  71)  and  TertuUian  {ApoL 

^  See  this  very  curious  letter  in  5)  ascribe   ^'t  to  Marcus  Aurelius. 

Vopiscus,  Satnrnimis.  It  is  now  generally  l)elieved  to  be 

*  Justin  Mart.  Ap.  i.  31.  Euse-  a  forgery  l)j  a  Christian  hand,  being 
bins  quotes  a  passage  from  Hege-  more  like  a  Christian  apology  than 
iippus  to  the  same  effect,     (iv.  8.)  the  letter    of  a    Pagan    emperor. 

*  '  Praecepitque  ne  cui  Judaeo  St.  Melito,  however,  writing  to 
imroeundi  Hierosolymani  esset  li-  Marcua  Aurelius,  expressly  states 
centia,  Ch?istianis  tantum  civitate  that  Antoninus  had  written  a  letter 
fermissa.' — Oros.  vii.  13.  forbidding  the  persecution  of  Chri&> 

*  A  letter  which  Eusebius  gives  tians.     (Euseb.  iv.  26.) 
at   full  (iv.   13),  and   ascribef    to 


1:40  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

A  iirelius  ;  Lnt  at  last  persecuting  edicts,  of  the  exact  nature 
of  which  wo  have  no  knowledge,  were  issued.  Of  the 
reasons  which  induced  one  of  the  best  men  who  have  ever 
reigned  to  persecute  the  Christians,  we  know  little  t)r 
nothing.  That  it  was  not  any  ferocity  of  disposition  or  ,ny 
impatience  of  resistance  may  be  confidently  asserted  of  one 
vv-hose  only  fault  was  a  somewhat  excessive  gentleness — who, 
on  the  death  of  his  wife,  asked  the  Senate,  as  a  singlo 
favoiu",  to  console  him  by  sparing  the  lives  of  those  who  had 
rebelled  against  h  im.  That  it  was  not,  as  has  been  strangely 
urged,  a  leligious  fanaticism  resembling  that  which  led  St. 
Lewis  to  persecute,  is  eq\ially  plain.  St,  Lewds  persecuted 
because  he  believed  that  to  reject  his  religious  opinions  was 
a  he'nous  crime,  and  that  heresy  was  the  path  to  hell. 
Marcus  Aurelius  had  no  such  belief,  and  he,  the  first  Roman 
emperor  who  made  the  Stoical  philosophy  his  religion  and 
his  comfort,  was  also  the  first  emperor  who  endowed  the 
professors  of  the  philosophies  that  were  most  hostile  to 
his  own.  The  fact  that  the  Christian  Church,  existing 
as  a  State  within  a  State,  wdth  government,  ideals,  enthu- 
siasms, and  hopes  wholly  diffei-ent  from  those  of  the  nation, 
was  incompatible  w4th  the  existing  system  of  the  Empii-e, 
had  become  more  evident  as  the  (church  increased.  The 
accusations  of  cannibalism  and  incestuous  impuiity  liad 
acquired  a  greater  consistency,  and  the  latter  are  said  to  have 
been  justly  applicable  to  the  Carpocratian  heretics,  w^ho  had 
recently  arisen.  The  Stoicism  of  Marcus  A  urelius  may  have 
revolted  from  the  practices  of  exoi-cism  or  the  appeals  to  the 
terrors  of  another  world,  and  the  philosophers  who  sur- 
rounded him  probably  stimulated  his  hostility,  for  his  niaster 
and  friend  Fi-onto  had  written  a  book  against  Christianity,* 
while  Justin  Martyr  is  said  to  have  perished  by  the  machi- 
nations  of  the  Cynic  Crescens.''^     It  must  be  added,  too,  that, 


'  It  is  alluded  to  by  Miuucius  Felix.  ^  Eusebius,  iv.  16. 


THE    CONVETISION    OF    ROME.  441 

while  it  is  impossible  to  acquit  the  emperor  of  having  issued 
severe  edicts  against  the  Christians,'  the  atrocious  details  of 
the  persecutions  in  his  reign  were  due  to  the  ferocity  of 
the  populace  and  the  weakness  of  the  governors  in  distant 
provinces  ;  and  it  is  inconceivable  that,  if  he  had  been  a  very 
bitter  enemy  of  the  Christians,  Tertullian,  writing  little  more 
than  twenty  years  later,  should  have  been  so  ignorant  of  the 
fact  as  to  represent  him  as  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  of 
thair  pi-otectors. 

But,  whatever  may  be  thought  on  these  points,  there  can, 
anhappily,  be  no  question  that  in  this  reign  Rome  was 
stained  by  the  blood  of  Justin  Martyr,  the  first  philosopher, 
and  one  of  the  purest  and  gentlest  natures  in  the  Church, 
and  that  persecution  was  widely  extended.  In  two  far 
distant  quarters,  at  Smyrna  and  at  Lyons,  it  far  exceeded  in 
atrocity  any  that  Christianity  had  endiired  since  Nero,  and 
in  each  case  a  heroism  of  the  most  transcendent  order  w^as 
displayed  by  the  martyrs.  The  persecution  at  Smyrna,  in 
which  St.  Polycarp  and  many  others  most  nobly  died,  took 
place  on  the  occasion  of  the  public  games,  and  we  may  trace 
the  influence  of  the  Jews  in  stimulating  it.^  The  persecution 
at  Lyons,  which  was  one  of  the  most  atrocious  in  the  whole 
compass  of  ecclesiastical  history,  and  which  has  supplied  the 
martyrology  with  some  of  its  grandest  and  most  pathetic 
figures,  derived  its  worst  features  from  a  combination  of  the 
fury  of  the  populace  and  of  tlie  subserviency  of  the  governor.^ 
Certain  servants  of  the  Christians,  terrified  by -the  prospect 
of  torture,  accused  their  masters  of  all  the  crimes  which 
popular  report  attributed  to  them,  of  incest,  of  infanticide, 
of  cannibalism,  of  hideous  impuiity.     A.  fearful  outburst  of 


'  St.    Melito    expressly   states  horrible  description  of  this  perse 

that  the  edicts  of  Marcus  Aurelius  cution  in  a  letter  written  by  tlie 

produced  the  Asiatic  persecution.  Christians  of  Lyons,  in  Eusebiua 

*  Eusebius,  iv.  15.  v.  1. 

"See   the   most    touching   and 

30 


442  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

ferocity  ensued.  Tortures  almost  too  horrible  to  recount 
were  for  hours  and  even  days  applied  to  the  bodies  of  old 
men  and  of  weak  women,  who  displayed  amid  their  agonies 
a  nobler  courage  than  has  ever  shone  upon  a  battle-field,  and 
whose  memories  are  immortal  among  mankind.  Blandina 
and  P^jthinus  wrote  in  blood  the  first  page  of  the  glorious 
history  of  the  Church  of  France.^  But  although,  during  the 
closing  years  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  severe  persecutions  took 
place  in  three  or  four  provinces,  there  was  no  genei'al  and 
organised  effort  to  suppress  Chiistianity  throughout  the 
Empire.^ 

We  may  next  consider,  as  a  single  period,  the  space  of 
time  that  elapsed  from  the  death  of  Marcus  Aui-elius,  in 
A.D.  180,  to  the  accession  of  Decius,  a.d.  249.  During  all 
this  time  Christianity  was  a  gi-eat  and  powerful  body,  exer- 
cising an  important  influence,  and  duiing  a  great  part  of  it 
Christians  filled  high  civil  and  military  positions.  The 
hostility  manifested  towards  them  began  now  to  assume  a 
more    political    complexion    than    it    had   pre\T.ously  done, 


*  Salpicius   Severus  (who  was  -  It    was    alleged    among    th<> 

himself  a  Gaul)  says  of  their  mar-  Christians,  that  towards  the  close 

tyrdom    {H.    E.,    lib.    ii.).    'Turn  of  his  reipn  Marcus  Aurelius  issued 

primum    intra    Gallias    Martyria  an  edict  protecting  the  Christians, 

visa,  serins  trans  Alpes  Dei  reli-  on    account  of  a  Christian  legion 

gionesuscepta.'    Tradition  ascribes  having,  in  Germany,  in  a  moment 

Gallic  Christianity  to  the  apostles,  of  great  distress,  procured  a  shower 

but    the   evidence   of  inscriptions  of  rain   by  their  prayers.      (Tert. 

appears  to  confirm  the  account  of  AjJol.  o.)    The  shower  is  mentioned 

Severus.       It    is    at    least    certain  by    I^agan    as    well    as    Christian 

that  Christianity  did  not  acquire  a  writers,  and  is  pourtrayed  on  the 

great   extension    till    later.      The  column    of    Antoninus.       It    was 

earliest  Cliristian  inscriptions  found  'ascribed  to  tlie  incantations  of  an 

are  (one  in  each  year)  of  a.d.  334,  Egyptian  magician,  to  the  prayers 

347,  377,  405.  and  409.     They  do  of  a  legion  of  Christians,  or  to  the 

not  become  common  till  the  middle  favour  of  Jove  towards  the  best  oi 

of  the  fifth   century.     See   a   full  mortals,  according  to  the  various 

discussion  of  this  in  the  preface  of  prejudices  of  diiFerent  observers. 

I\l.   Le  Slant's  admirable  and  in-  — Merivale's   Hist,  of  Rome,  voL 

deed  exhaustive  work,  Inscnprions  viii.  p.  338. 
ohreticnnes  de  la  Gaule. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  443 

ectcept  peiiiaps  in  the  later  years  of  Marcus  Aiu'eliiis.  The 
existence  of  a  vast  and  rapidly  increasing  corporation,  very 
alien  to  the  system  of  the  Empire,  confronted  every  ruler. 
Emperois  like  Commodus  or  Heliogabalus  were  usually  too 
immersed  in  selfish  pleasures  to  have  any  distinct  policy ; 
but  sagacious  sovereigns,  sincerely  desiring  the  well-being  of 
the  Empire,  either,  like  Marcus  Aurelius  and  Diocletian, 
endeavoured  to  repress  the  rising  creed,  or,  like  Alexander 
Scverus,  and  at  last  Constantine,  actively  encouraged  it. 
The  measiu-es  Marcus  Aurelius  had  taken  against  Chris- 
tianity were  arrested  under  Commodus,  whose  favoui-ite 
mistress,  Marcia,  supplies  one  of  the  very  few  recorded 
instances  of  female  influence,  w^hich  has  been  the  cause  of 
80  much  persecution,  being  exerted  in  behalf  of  toleration  ;  ^ 
yet  a  Christian  phLloso])her  named  Apollonius,  and  at  the 
same  time,  by  a  curious  retribution,  his  accuser,  were  in  this 
reign  executed  at  Rome.-  During  the  sixty-nine  years  we 
are  considering,  the  general  peace  of  the  Church  was  only 
twice  broken.  The  first  occasion  was  in  the  reign  of 
Septimus  Severus,  w^ho  was  for  some  time  veiy  favourable 
to  the  Christians,  but  who,  in  a.d.  202  or  203,  issued  an 
edict,  forbidding  any  Pagan  to  join  the  Christian  or  Jewish 
faith ;  ^  and  this  edict  w^as  followed  by  a  sanguinary  persecu- 


*  Xipliilin,  Ixxii.  4.     The  most  compare  Pressense,  Hist,  des  Trois 

atrocious  of  the  Pagan  persecutions  premiers  Siecies  (2"'*  serie),  tome  i. 

was  attributed,  as  we  shall  see,  to  pp.  182-183,  and  Jeremie's  Church 

the   mother   of  Galerius,    and    in  History  of  Second  and  Third  Cen 

Christian  times  the  Spanish  Inqui-  tunes,  p.  29.     Apollonius  was  of 

eitiou    was    founded    by    Isabella  senatorial  rank.      It  is  said   that 

the  Catholic;  the  massacre  of  St.  some  other   martyrs   died    at   the 

Bartholomew   was  chiefly   due   to  same  time. 

Catherine  of  Medicis,  and  the  most  ^  '  Judaeos  fieri  sub  gravi  pcEua 

horrible    English    persecution    to  vetuit.     Idem  etiam  de  Christianis 

Mary  Tudor.  sanxit.'— Spartian.5.  *S^wn/s.    The 

^  Euseb.   V.  21.     The  accuser,  persecution  is  described  by  Euse- 

w?  learn  from  St.  Jerome,  was  a  bins,     lib.    vi.       Tertullian     says 

slave.      On    the   law   condemning  Severus    was    favourable    to    tha 

slaves  who  accused  their  masters,  Christians,  a  Christian  named  Pro 


444  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

tion  in  Africa  and  Syria,  in  wliich  the  father  of  Origcn, 
and  also  St.  Felicitas  and  St.  Perpetiia,  perished.  This  per- 
secution does  not  appear  to  have  extended  to  the  West,  and 
was  apparently  rather  the  work  of  provincial  governors,  who 
interpi-eted  the  Imperial  edict  as  a  sign  of  hostility  to  the 
Christians,  than  the  direct  act  of  the  emperor,'  whose  docrue 
applied  only  to  Christians  actively  proselytising.  It  is 
worthy  of  notice  that  Origen  observed  that  previous  to  this 
time  the  number  of  Christian  martyrs  had  been  very  small.^ 
The  second  persecution  was  occasioned  by  the  murder  of 
Alexander  Severus  by  Maximinus.  The  usiirper  pursued 
with  great  bitterness  the  leading  courtiers  of  the  deceased 
emperor,  among  whom  were  some  Christian  bishops,^  and 
about  the  same  time  severe  earthquakes  in  Pontus  and 
Cappadocia  produced  the  customary  popular  ebullitions. 
But  with  these  exceptions  the  Christians  were  undisturbed. 
Caracalla,  Macrinus,  and  Heliogabalus  took  no  measures 
against  them,  while  Alexander  Severus,  who  reigned  for 
thirteen  years,  warmly  and  steadily  supported  them.  A 
Pagan  historian  assui-es  us  that  this  emperor  intended  to 
build  temples  in  honour  of  Christ,  but  was  dissuaded  by  the 
priests,  who  urged  that  all  the  other  temples  would  be 
deserted.  He  venerated  in  his  private  oratory  the  statues  of 
Apollonius  of  Tyana,  Abraham,  Orpheus,  and  Christ.  He 
decreed  that  the  provincial  governors  should  not  be  appointed 
till  the  people  had  the  opportunity  of  declaring  any  crime  they 
had  committed,  borrowing  this  i-ule  avowedly  from  the  pro- 

culus    (whom   lie,  in  conspqxience,  latter  provinces  appears  as  the  act 

retained  in  the  palace  till  his  death)  of    hostile    governors     proceeding 

having  cured  him  of  an  illness  by  upon  the  exising  laws,  rather  than 

the  application  of  oil.    {Ad  Scapid.  the  consequence  of  any  recent  edict 

4.)  of  the  emperor." — Milman's    Hist. 

''Of    the    persecution    under  of  Christianity,   vol.  ii.   pp.   156- 

Severus    there    are    few,    if    any,  157. 

traces  in  the  West.     It  is  confined  "^  Adv.   Cels.  iii.     See    Gibbon 

to  Syria,  perhaps  to  Cappadocia,  ch.  xvi. 
to  Egypt,  and  to  Africa,  and  in  the  ^  Eusebius,  vi.  28. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  445 

oediire  of  the  Jews  and  Christians  in  electing  their  clergy  ;  ho 
ordered  the  precept  '  Do  not  unto  others  what  you  would  not 
tbat  they  should  do  unto  you '  to  be  engi-aven  on  the  })alace 
and  other  public  buildings,  and  he  decided  a  dispute  con 
corning  a  piece  of  ground  which  the  Christians  had  occupied, 
and  which  the  owners  of  certain  eating-houses  claimed,  in 
farcur  of  the  former,  on  the  ground  that  the  worship  of  a 
god  should  be  most  considered.'  Philip  the  Arab,  who 
reigned  during  the  last  five  years  of  the  period  we  aro 
considering,  was  so  favourable  to  the  Christians  that  hp 
was  believed,  though  on  no  trustworthy  evidence,  to  havn 
been  baptised. 

"We  have  now  reviewed  the  history  of  the  persecutions  to 
the  year  a.d.  249,  or  about  two  hundred  years  after  the 
planting  of  Christianity  in  Rome.  Wc  have  seen  that,  al- 
though duruig  that  period  much  suffering  was  occasionally 
endured,  and  much  heroism  displayed,  by  the  Christians,  there 
was,  with  the  very  doubtful  exception  of  the  N^eronian  per- 
secution, no  single  attempt  made  to  suppress  Christianity 
throughout  the  Empii^e.  Local  pei-secutions  of  gi-eat  severity 
had  taken  place  at  Smyrna  and  Lyons,  under  Marcus  Aure- 
lius ;  in  Africa  and  some  Asiatic  provinces,  under  Severus ; 
popular  tumults,  arising  in  the  excitement  of  the  public 
games,  or  produced  by  some  earthquake  oi-  inundation,  or  by 
some  calumnious  accusation,  were  not  unfrequent ;  but  there 
was  at  no  time  that  continuous,  organised,  and  universal  per- 
secution by  which,  in  later  period*,  ecclesiastical  trib\inals 
have  again  and  again  suppressed  opinions  repugnant  to  their 
own ;  and  there  was  no  part  of  the  Empii-e  in  which  whole 
generations  did  not  pass  away  absolutely  imdisturbed.  Nc 
jnartyr  had  fallen  in  Gaul  or  in  great  pai  t  of  Asia  Minor 
till  Marcuc  Aurelius.     In  Italy,  after  the  death  of  Nero, 


'  IiampridiMs,  A.    Severus.     The  historian  adds,  'Jadseis  privilegia 
teservdvit.     Christianos  esse  passus  est.' 


446  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEA^^    MORALS. 

with  the  exception  of  some  slight  troubles  under  Domitian 
and  Maximinus,  probably  due  to  causes  altogether  distinct 
from  religion,  there  were,  during  the  whole  period  we  are  con- 
sidering, only  a  few  isolated  instances  of  martyrdom.  The 
bishops,  as  the  leaders  of  the  Church,  were  the  special  objectn 
of  hostility,  and  several  in  different  parts  of  the  world  ha^J 
fallen ;  but  it  is  extremely  questionable  whether  any  Roman 
bishop  perished  after  the  apostolic  age,  till  Fabianus  was 
martyi-ed  under  Decius.^  If  Christianity  was  not  formally 
authorised,  it  was,  like  many  other  religions  in  a  similar  po- 
sition, generally  acquiesced  in,  and,  during  a  great  part  of  the 
time  we  have  reviewed,  its  professors  appear  to  have  found 
no  obstacles  to  their  preferment  in  the  Court  or  in  the  army. 
The  emperors  were  for  the  most  part  indifferent  or  fav^our- 
able  to  them.  The  priests  in  the  Pagan  society  had  but  little 
influence,  and  do  not  appear  to  have  taken  any  prominent 
jiart  in  the  persecution  till  near  the  time  of  Diocletian.  With 
the  single  exception  of  the  Jews,  no  class  held  that  doc- 
tiino  of  the  criminality  of  error  which  has  been  the  parent  of 
most  modern  persecutions ;  and  although  the  belief  that  great 
calamities  were  the  result  of  neglecting  or  insulting  the  gods 
furnished  the  Pagans  with  a  religious  motive  for  persecution, 
this  motive  only  acted  on  the  occasion  of  some  rare  and  ex- 
ceptional catastrophe. 2     In  Christian  times,  the  first  objcct^s 


'  Compare  Milman's  History  of  scnted,  by  the  fjenerni  voice  of  the 
Early  Christianity  (1867),  vof.  ii.  Church,  as  perfectly  free  from  the 
p.  188,  and  his  History  of  Latin  sta'n  of  persecution.  A  tradition, 
Christianity  (1867),  vol.  i.pp.  26-  ^vhieh  is  in  itself  sufficiently  prob- 
59.  There  are  only  tAvo  cases  of  aMe,  states  that  P.intianus.  having 
alleged  martyrdom  before  this  time  been  exiled  liy  JNlaximinus,  m.is 
that  can  excite  any  reasonable  killed  in  banishment, 
doubt.  Irenpeus  distinctly  asserts  ^  Tacitus  has  a  very  ingenious 
that  Telesphorus  was  martyred ;  remark  on  this  subject,  which 
but  his  marr3Tdom  is  put  in  the  illustrates  happily  the  half  scepti. 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  Antoninus  cism  of  the  Empire.  After  recount- 
Pius  (he  had  assumed  the  mi're  ing  a  number  of  prodigies  that  were 
near  the  end  of  the  reign  of  said  to  have  taken  place  in  the  reign 
Hadrian),  and  Antoninus  is  repre-  of  Otho,   he   remarks    that    these 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  447 

dF  the  persecutor  are  to  control  education,  to  prevent  the 
publication  of  any  heterodox  works,  to  institute  such  a  minute 
police  inspection  as  to  render  impossible  the  celebi-ation  of  the 
worship  he  desires  to  suppress.  But  nothing  of  tliis  kind 
vva3  attempted,  or  indeed  was  possible,  in  the  period  we  are 
considering.  With  the  exception  of  the  body-guar<I  of  the 
emperor,  almost  the  who^e  army,  which  was  of  extremely 
moderate  dimensions,  was  massed  along  the  vast  fi-ontier 
of  the  Empire.  The  police  force  was  of  the  scantiest  kind, 
sufficient  only  tc  keep  common  order  in  the  streets.  The 
Government  had  done  something  to  encourage,  but  abso- 
lutely nothing  to  control,  education,  and  parents  or  societies 
were  at  perfect  liberty  to  educate  the  young  as  they  pleased. 
The  expansion  of  literature,  by  reason  of  the  facilities  which 
slavery  gave  to  transcription,  was  very  great,  and  it  was 
for  the  most  part  entirely  uncontrolled.'  Augustus,  it  ia 
true,  had  caused  some  volumes  of  forged  pro})hecies  to  be 
burnt,^  and,  under  the  tyranny  of  Tiberius  and  I)omitian, 
political  writers  and  historians  who  eulogised  tyrannicide,  or 
vehemently  opposed  the  Empire,  were  persecuted ;  but  the 
extreme  indignation  these  acts  elicited  attests  theii*  rarity, 
and,    on   matters  unconnected  with   politics,  the  liberty  of 

were  things  habitually  noticed  in  unfortunate.     The  first  task  of  a 

the  ages  of  ignorance,  but  now  on'y  modern  despot  is  to  centralise  to 

noticed  in  periods  of  terror.    'Eudi-  the  highest  point,  to  bring  every 

bus  saeculis  etiam  in  pace  observata,  department  of  thought  and  action 

quae  nunc  tantum  in  metu  audiun-  under  a  system  of  police  regulation, 

tur.'-  Hist.  i.  86.  and,  above  all,  to  impose  his  shack  • 

'  M.  de  Champagny  has  devoted  ling  tyranny  iipon  the  human  mind, 

an  extremely  beautiful  chapter  {Les  The  very  perfection  of  the  Eomaii 

Antonins,  tome  ii.  pp.  179-200)  to  Empire   Avas,    that    the    municipal 

the  liberty  of  the  Roman  Empire,  and   personal  liljerty    it    admitted 

See,  too,  the  fifty-fourth  chapter  of  had  never  been  surpassed,  and  the 

Mr.  Merivale's  History.     It  is  the  intellectual  liberty  had  never  been 

custom   of  some  of  the  apologists  equalled. 

for  modern  Csesarism  to  defend  it  -  Sueton.  J?/^.xxxi.    It  appears 

bi  pointing  to  the  Roman  Empire  from  a  passage  in  Livy  (xxxix.  16) 

as  tae  happitst  period  in  human  that    books   of   oracles   bad    beeo 

history.     No  apology  can  be  more  sometimes  burnt  in  the  Republic. 


i48 


HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MOEALS. 


literature  was  absolute.^  In  a  word,  the  Church  prosely- 
tised in  a  society  in  which  toleration  was  the  rule,  and  at  a 
time  when  municipal,  provincial,  and  personal  indej^endence 
had  reached  the  highest  point,  when  the  ruling  classes  were 
(ov  the  most  part  absolutely  indiflferent  to  religious  opinions, 
and  when  an  unprecedented  concoui'se  of  influences  facilitated 
its  progi-ess. 

"When  we  reflect  that  these  were  the  circumstances  of  the 
Church  till  the  middle  of  the  third  century,  we  may  readily 


'  Tacitus  has  given  us  a  very 
remarkable  account  of  the  trial  of 
Cremutius  Cordus.  under  Tiberius, 
for  having  published  a  history 
in  which  he  had  praised  Brutus 
and  called  Cassius  the  last  o' 
Romans.  (A/mal.  iv.  34-35.)  He 
expressly  terms  this  '  novo  ac  tunc 
primum  audiio  crimine.'  and  he 
puts  a  speech  in  the  mouih  of  che 
accused,  descriljing  the  liberty  pre- 
viously accorded  to  writers.  Cordus 
avoided  execution  by  suicide.  His 
daughter.  Marcia,  pr'^served  some 
copies  of  his  work,  and  published 
it  in  the  reign  and  with  the  appro- 
bation of  Caligula.  (Senec.  Ad 
Marc.  1 ;  Suet.  Calig.  16.)  There  are. 
however,  some  traces  of  an  earlier 
persecution  of  letters.  Under  the 
sanction  of  a  law  of  the  decemvirs 
against  libellers,  Augustus  exiled 
the  satiric  writer  Cassius  Severus, 
and  he  also  destroyed  the  works  of 
an  historian  named  Labienus,  on 
account  of  their  seditious  senti- 
ments. These  writings  were  re- 
published with  those  of  Cordus. 
(reneral'y.  however.  Augustus  was 
very  magnanimous  in  his  dealings 
with  his  assailants.  He  refused 
the  req-aest  of  Tiberius  to  punish 
them  (Si\et.  Aug.  51),  and  only  ex- 
eluded  from  his  palace  Timagenes, 
who  bitter! v  satirised  both  him  and 


the  empress,  and  proclaimed  him- 
self everywhere  the  enemy  of  the 
emperor.  (Senec.  De  Ira,  iii.  2o.) 
A  similar  magnanimity  was  shown 
by  most  of  the  other  emperors; 
among  others,  by  Nero.  (Suet. 
Nero,  39.)  Under  Vespasian,  how- 
ever, a  poet,  named  Maternus,  wa.s 
obliged  to  retouch  a  tragedy  on 
Cato  (Tacit.  Be  Or.  2-3),  and 
Domitian  allowed  no  writings  op- 
posed to  his  policy.  (Tacit.  Agrif.) 
But  no  attempt  appears  to  htve 
been  made  in  the  Empire  to  con- 
trol religious  writings  till  the 
persecution  of  Diocletian,  who 
ordered  the  Scriptures  to  be  burnt. 
The  example  was  speedily  followed 
by  the  Christian  emperors.  The 
writings  of  Arius  were  burnt  i-u 
AD.  321,  those  of  Porphyry  in  a  d. 
388.  Pope  Celasius,  in  a.d.  496, 
drew  up  a  list  of  books  which 
sliouM  not  be  read,  and  all  liberty 
of  publication  speedily  became  ex- 
tinct. See  on  this  subject  Peiguot, 
Es!>ai  kistoriquc  sur  la  Liberie 
cVEcrire ;  Villemain,  Etudes  de 
Litter,  ancienne ;  Sir  C.  Lewis  on 
the  Credibility  of  Roman  Hist.  vol. 
i.  p.  52  ;  Nadal,  Mc moire  sur  la 
liberie  q^Cavoie.nt  les  soldats  romains 
de  dire  dcs  vers  satyriques  contrb 
cevxqid  triomphoient  (Paris,  1725) 


THE    CONYERSION    OF    ROME.  449 

perceive  the  absurdity  of  maintaining  that  Christianity  waa 
propagated  in  the  face  of  such  a  fierce  and  continuous  perse- 
cution that  no  opinions  could  have  survived  it  without  a 
miracle,  or  of  arguing  from  the  history  of  the  early  Church 
that  persecution  never  has  any  real  efficacy  in  suppressing 
truth.  When,  in  addition  to  the  circumstances  under  wl  icli 
it  operated,  we  consider  the  unexampled  means  both  of  at- 
traction and  of  intimidation  that  were  possessed  by  the 
Church,  we  can  have  no  difficulty  in  understanding  that  it 
should  have  acquired  a  magnitude  that  would  enable  it  to 
defy  the  far  more  serious  assaults  it  was  still  destined  to 
endure.  That  it  had  acquired  this  extension  we  have  abun- 
dant evidence.  The  language  I  have  quoted  from  Lactantius 
is  but  a  feeble  echo  of  the  emphatic  statements  of  writers 
before  the  Decian  persecution.^  'There  is  no  race  of  men, 
whether  Greek  or  barbarian,'  said  Justin  Martyr,  'among 
whom  prayers  and  thanks  are  not  offered  up  in  the  name  of 
the  crucified.' 2  '  We  are  but  of  yesterday,'  cried  Tertullian, 
*  and  we  fill  all  your  cities,  islands,  forts,  councils,  even  the 
camps  themselves,  the  tribes,  the  deciu-ies,  the  palaces,  the 
senate,  and  the  forum.' ^  Eusebius  has  preserved  a  letter  of 
Cornelius,  Bishop  of  Rome,  containing  a  catalogue  of  the 
officers  of  his  Church  at  the  time  of  the  Decian  persecution. 
It  consisted  of  one  bishop,  forty-six  presbyters,  seven  deacons, 
seven  subdeacons,  forty-two  acolytes,  fifty-two  exorcists, 
readers,  and  janitors.  The  Church  also  supported  more 
than  fifteen  hundred  widows,  and  poor  or  suffering  persons."* 
The  Decian  persecution,  which  broke  out  in  a.d.  249,  and 
was  probably  begun  in  hopes  of  restoring  the  Empire  to 
its  ancient  discipline,  and  eliminating  from  it  all  extraneous 


'  See  a  collection  of  passages  -  Trypho. 

on  this  point  in  Pressense,  Hist.  ^  Apol.  xxxvii. 

des    Trois    premiers     Siecles    (2""-  *  Euseb.  vi.  43 
«erie),  tome  I.  pp.  3-4. 


i50  HISTORY    OF    EUEOPEAN    MORALS. 

and  unpatriotic  influences,^  is  the  first  example  of  a  deliberate 
attempt,  supported  by  the  whole  machinery  of  pro\T.ncial 
government,  and  extending  over  the  entire  surface  of  the 
Empii^e,  to  extiqjate  Christianity  from  the  world.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  find  language  too  strong  to  paint  its  horrors 
The  ferocious  instincts  of  the  populace,  that  were  long  re- 
pressed, bui'st  out  anew,  and  they  were  not  only  pennitted, 
but  encouraged  by  the  rulers.  Far  worse  than  the  deaths 
which  menaced  those  who  shrank  from  the  idolatrous  sacri- 
fices, were  the  hideous  and  prolonged  tortures  by  which  the 
maoistrates  often  souo-ht  to  subdue  the  constancy  of  the 
martyr,  the  nameless  outi^ages  that  were  sometimes  inflicted 
on  the  Christian  virgin. ^  The  Church,  enervated  by  a  long 
peace,  and  deeply  infected  with  the  vices  of  the  age,  tottered 
beneath  the  blow.  It  had  long  since  ariived  at  the  period 
when  men  were  Chiistians  not  by  conviction,  but  through 
family  relationship  ;  when  the  more  opulent  Christians  vied 
in  luxury  with  the  Pagans  among  whom  they  mixed,  and 
when   even  the  bishops  were,  in    many   instances,  worldly 


'  Eusebius,  it  is  true,  ascrilies  Pauli),  both  notice  thiit  during  this 
this  persecution  (vi.  39)  to  the  persecution  th-^  dfsire  of  the  perse- 
hatred  Decius  bore  to  his  prede-  outers  whs  to  subdue  the  constancy 
cessor  Philip,  who  was  very  friendly  of  the  Christians  by  torture,  with- 
to  the  Christians.  But  although  out  grntifyiug  their  desire  for 
such  a  motive  might  account  for  a  martyrdom.  The  consignment  of 
persecution  like  that  of  Maximin,  Christian  virgins  to  houses  of  ill 
■which  was  directed  chiefly  against  fame  was  one  of  the  most  common 
the  bishops  who  had  been  about  incidents  in  the  later  acts  of  mar- 
the  Court  of  Sevenis,  it  is  insuffi-  tyrs  which  were  invented  in  the 
cient  to  account  for  a  persecution  middle  agts.  Unhappil}',  liowever, 
so  general  and  so  severe  as  that  of  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  there 
Decius.  It  is  remarkable  that  this  are  some  undoubted  traces  of  it  at 
emperor  is  uniformly  represented  an  earlier  date.  Terrullian,  in  a 
by  the  Pagan  historians  as  an  emi-  fixmous  passage,  speaks  of  the  cry 
nontly  wise  and  humane  sovere-gn.  'Ad  Lenonem  '  as  substituted  for 
See  Dodwell,  De  Paiicitatc  Mar-  that  of  '  Ad  Leonem  ; '  and  St.  Am 
tyrum,  lii.  brose  recounts  some  strange  stories 

*  St.  Cyprian  {Ef.  vii.)  and,  at  on  this  subject  in  his  treatise  B* 

a  later  period,   S'.  Jerome  (HY.  Virgmi^nis. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  451 

Rspii-ants  after  civil  offices.  It  is  not,  therefore,  surprising 
that  the  defection  was  very  large.  The  Pagans  marked  with 
triumphant  ridicule,  and  the  Fathers  with  a  bui^ning  indig- 
nation, the  thousands  who  thronged  to  the  altars  at  the  very 
commencement  of  persecution,  the  sudden  collapse  of  the 
most  illustrious  churches,  the  eagerness  with  which  the  offer 
of  provincial  governors  to  furnish  certificates  of  apostasy, 
without  exacting  a  compliance  with  the  conditions  which 
those  certificates  attested,  was  accepted  by  multitudes.^  The 
question  whether  those  who  abandoned  the  faith  should 
afterwards  be  readmitted  to  communion,  became  the  chief 
question  that  divided  the  Novatians,  and  one  of  the  questions 
that  divided  the  Montanists  from  the  Catholics,  while  the 
pretensions  of  the  confessors  to  furnish  indulgences,  remitting 
the  penances  imposed  by  the  bishops,  led  to  a  conflict  which 
contributed  very  largely  to  establish  the  undisputed  ascend- 
ancy of  the  episcopacy.  But  the  Decian  persecution,  though 
it  exhibits  the  Church  in  a  somewhat  less  noble  attitude  than 
the  persecutions  which  preceded  and  which  followed  it,  was 
adorned  by  many  exa-mples  of  extreme  courage  and  devotion, 
displayed  in  not  a  few  cases  by  those  who  were  physically 
among  the  frailest  of  mankind.  It  was  of  a  kind  eminently 
^tted  to  crush  the  Church.  Had  it  taken  place  at  an  earlier 
period,  had  it  been  continued  for  a  long  succession  of  years, 
Christianity,  without  a  miracle,  must  have  perished.  But 
the  Decian  persecution  fell  upon  a  Church  which  had  existed 
for  two  centuries,  and  it  lasted  less  than  two  years.  ^     Its 


'  St.  Cyprian  has  drawn  a  very  grande  violence.     Car  S.  Cypricn, 

highly  coloured  picture  of  this  gene-  dans  les  lettres  ecrites  en  251,  des 

ral  corruption,  and  of  the  apostasy  devant    Pasque,    et    mesme   dans 

it   produced,    in    his    treatise    De  quelques-unes  ecrites  apparcmmenfc 

Lupsis,  a  most  interesting  picture  des  la  fin  de  250,  temoigne  que  son 

cf  the  society  of  his  time      See,  eglise  jouissoit    deja    de    quelque 

too,  the  Life  of  St.  Gregory  TlioiL-  paix,  mais  d"une  paix  encore  pen 

maturgus,  by  Greg,  of  Nyssa.  aflfermie,  en  sorte  que  le  moindre 

2  'La  persecution  de  Deco  ne  accident    eust    pu    renouveler    le 

dura   qu' environ    un    an    dans    sa  trouble  et  la  persecution.  II  semble 


152 


HISTORY    OF    EUHOPEAN    MORALS. 


intensity  ^  aried  much  in  different  provinces.  In  Alexandiia 
and  the  neighbouring  towns,  where  a  popular  tumult  had 
anticipated  the  menaces  of  the  Government,  it  was  extremely 
hoiTible.^  In  Carthage,  at  fii'st,  the  proconsul  being  absent, 
no  capital  sentence  was  passed,  but  on  the  arrival  of  tluit 
functionary  the  penalty  of  death,  accompanied  by  dreadful 
tortures,  was  substituted  for  that  of  exile  or  imprisonment.^ 
The  rage  of  the  people'  was  especially  directed  against  the 
bishop  St.  C}"prian,  who  prudently  retii-ed  till  the  stoi-m  had 
passed.^  In  general,  it  was  observed  that  the  object  of  the 
rulers  was  much  less  to  slay  than  to  vanquish  the  Christians. 


mesme  que  Ton  n'eust  pas  encore 
la  liberte  d'y  tenir  les  assemblees, 
et  neiinmoins  il  paroist  que  tous 
les  confesseurs  prisonniers  a  Car- 
thage y  avoient  este  mis  en  liberte 
des  ce  temps-la.' — Tillemont,  Mem. 
d'Hist.  ecdesiastique,  tome  iii.  p. 
324. 

'  Dionysius  the  bishop  wrote  a 
full  account  of  it,  which  Eusebius 
has  preserved  (vi.  il-42).  In 
Alexandria,  Dionysius  says,  the 
persecution  produced  by  popular 
fanaticism  preceded  the  edict  of 
Decius  by  an  entire  year.  He  has 
preserved  a  particuhir  catalogue  of 
all  who  were  put  to  death  in  Al-^x- 
andria  during  the  entire  Decian 
persecution.  They  were  seventeen 
persons.  Several  of  these  were 
killed  by  the  mob,  and  their  deaths 
were  in  nearly  all  cases  accom- 
panied by  circumstances  of  extreme 
atroci  i  y.  Besides  these,  others  (we 
know  not  how  many)  had  been  put 
to  torture.  Many,  Dionysius  says, 
perished  in  other  cities  or  villages 
of  Egypt. 

'^  .See  St.  Cj^prian,  £);.  viii. 

^  There  was  much  controversy 
»t  this  time  as  to  the  propriety  of 
bishops    evading    persecution    by 


flight.  TheMontanists  maintained 
that  such  a  conduct  was  equiva- 
lent to  apostasy.  Tertiiilian  had 
written  a  book,  De  Fug  a  in  Perse- 
cutione,  maintaining  this  view ; 
and  among  the  orthodox  the  con- 
duct of  St.  Cyprian  (who  after- 
wards nobly  attested  his  courage 
by  his  death)  did  not  escape  anim- 
adversion. The  more  moderate 
opinion  prevailed,  but  the  leading 
bishops  found  it  necessary  to  sup- 
port their  conduct  by  declaring 
that  they  had  received  special 
revelations  exhorting  them  to  fly.. 
St.  Cyprian,  who  constantly  ap- 
pealed to  his  dreams  to  justify 
him  in  his  controversies  (see  some 
curious  instances  collected  iuMid- 
dleton's  Free  Knqtiiry,  pp.  101- 
105),  declared  {Fp.  ix.),  and  his 
biographer  and  friend  Pontius  re- 
asserted (  Vit.  Cyprianh),  that  his 
flight  was  'by  the  command  of 
God.'  Dionysius,  the  Bishop  of 
Alexandria,  asserts  the  same  thing 
of  his  own  flight,  and  attests  it  by 
an  oath  (see  his  own  words  in 
Euseb.  vi.  40) ;  and  the  same 
thing  was  afterwards  related  of  St. 
Gregory  Thaumaturgus.  (See  his 
I,'ife  by  Gregory  of  Nyssa.) 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  453 

Honible  tortures  were  continually  employed  to  extort  an 
apostasy,  and,  when  those  tortures  proved  vain,  great  num- 
bers were  ultimately  released. 

The  Decian  persecution  is  remarkable  in  Christian  ai-clise- 
ology  as  being,  it  is  believed,  the  first  occasion  in  which  the 
Christian  catacombs  wei-e  violated.  Those  vast  subterranean 
corridors,  lined  with  tombs  and  expanding  very  frequently 
into  small  chapels  adorned  with  paintings,  often  of  no  mean 
beauty,  had  for  a  long  period  been  an  inviolable  asylum  in 
seasons  of  persecution.  The  extreme  sanctity  which  the 
Romans  were  accustomed  to  attach  to  the  place  of  burial  re- 
pelled the  profane,  and  as  early,  it  is  said,  as  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  third  century,  the  catacombs  were  recognised  as 
legal  possessions  of  the  Church.^  The  Roman  legislators, 
however  unfavourable  to  the  formation  of  guilds  or  associa- 
tions, made  an  exception  in  favour  of  burial  societies,  or 
associations  of  men  subscribing  a  cei-tain  sum  to  ensure  to 
each  member  a  decent  burial  in  ground  which  belonged  to 
the  coi-poiation.  The  Church  is  believed  to  have  availed 
itself  of  this  privilege,  and  to  have  attained,  in  this  capacity, 
a  legal  existence.  The  tombs,  which  were  originally  tlie 
properties  of  distinct  families,  became  in  this  manner  an 
ecclesiastical  domain,  and  the  catacombs  were,  from  perhaps 
the  fii-st,  made  something  more  than  places  of  burial.  ^  The 
chapels  with  which  they  abound,  and  which  are  of  the 
smallest  dimensions  and  utterly  unfit  for  general  worship, 
were  probably  mortuary  chapels,  and  may  have  also  been 
employed  in  the  services  commemorating  the  martyi^a,  while 
the  ordinary  worship  was  probably   at   first   conducted   in 


'  '  E  veramente  clie  almeno  fino  p.  103. 
dal  secolo  terzo   i   fedeli    abbiano  -  This  is  all  fully  discussed  by 

posseduto   cimiteri   a   nome    com-  Rossi,  Eoma  Sotterranea,  tomo  i. 

mune,  e  clie  il    loro    possesso  sia  pp.    101-108.      Rossi    thinks   the 

stato  riconosciuto  dagi'imperatori,  Church,  in  its   capacity  of  burial 

h   cosa    impossibile    a    negare.'^  society,  was  known  by  the  name  of 

Rossi,   Roma  Sotterranea,  tomo  i.  'c^cbsia  fratruin.' 


454  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

the  private  houses  of  the  Christians.  The  decision  oi 
Alexander  Severus,  which  I  have  ah-eady  noticed,  is  the 
earliest  notice  we  possess  of  the  existence  of  buildings  specially 
devoted  to  the  Christian  services ;  but  we  cannot  tell  ho^^ 
long  before  this  time  they  may  have  existed  in  Rome.  -  In 
Borious  pei-secution,  however,  they  would  doubtless  have  to 
be  abandoned ;  and,  as  a  last  resort,  the  catacombs  proved  a 
refuge  from  the  persecutors. 

The  reign  of  Decius  only  last-ed  about  two  years,  and 
before  its  close  the  persecution  had  almost  ceased. ^  On  the 
accession  of  his  son  Callus,  in  the  last  month  of  a.d.  251, 
there  was  for  a  short  time  perfect  peace  ;  but  Gallus  resumed 
the  persecution  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  and 
although  apparently  not  very  severe,  or  very  general,  it  seems 
to  have  continued  to  his  death,  which  took  place  a  year 
after.^  Two  Roman  bishops,  Cornelius,  wlio  had  succeeded 
the  martyred  Fabianus,  and  his  successor  Lucius,  were  at 
this  time  put  to  death. ^     Valerian,  who  ascended  the  throne 

'  See,  on   the  history  of  early  affiiirs   had   been   thro"svu  by  the 

Christian  Churches,  Cave's  Primi-  defeat  of  Decius  appears,  at  first, 

tive  Christianity,  part  i.  c,  vi.  to  have  engrossed  his  attention. 

'^  Dodvell  {De  Pancit.  Martyr.  *  Lucius  was  at  first  exiled  and 

Ivii.)  has  collected  evidence  of  the  then  permitted  to  return,  on  which 

subsidence   of  the   persecution  in  occasion  St.  Cyprian  wrote  him  a 

the  last  year  of  the  reign  of  Decius.  letter  of  congratulation  {Ep.  Ivii.). 

^  This  persecution  is  not  noticed  He  was,   however,  afterwards  re- 

by  St.  Jerome,   Orosius,  Salpic  us  arrested  and  slain,  but  it  is  not,  I 

Severns,  or  Lactantius.     The  very  think,  clear  whether  it  was  under 

little  we  know  about  it  is  derived  Galhis  or  Valerian.     St.   Cyprian 

from   the   letters   of  St.  Cyprian,  speaks  (A/).  Ixvi.)  of  both  Coiuelina 

and  from  a  short  notice  by  Diony-  and   Lucius    as    martyred.      The 

sius   of  Alexandria,  in    Eusebius,  emperors    wpre   probably   at   this 

vii.  1.     Dionysius  says,  Gallus  be-  time  beginning  to  realise  the  power 

gan  the  persecution  when  his  reign  the   Bishops   of   Kome   possessed. 

was   advancing   prosperously,  and  "\Te  know  harJly  anything  of  the 

his  affairs  succeeding,  which  proba-  Decian  persecution  at  Eome  except 

bly  means,  after  he  had  procured  the  execution  of  the  bishop;  and 

the  departure  of  the  Goths  from  St.    Cyprian   says    {Ep.    H.)   that 

the  Illyrian  province,  early  in  a.d.  Decius   would    have    preferred    a 

252  (see   Gibbon,    chap.  x.).     The  pretender    to    the    throne    to     a 

disastrous     position     into     which  Bishop  of  Rome. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  455 

A.D.  254,  at  first  not  only  tolerated,  but  warmly  patronised 
the  Christians,  and  attracted  so  many  to  his  Court  that  his 
bouse,  in  the  language  of  a  contemporary,  appeared  '  the 
Church  of  the  Lord.' '  But  after  rather  more  than  four  years 
his  disposition  changed.  At  the  persuasion,  it  is  said,  of  an 
Egyi^tian  magician,  named  Macrianus,  he  signed  in  a.d.  258 
an  edict  of  persecution  condemning  Christian  ecclesiastics 
and  senators  to  death,  and  other  Christians  to  exile,  or  to 
the  forfeiture  of  their  property,  and  prohibiting  them  from 
entering  the  catacombs.'^  A  sanguinary  and  general  perse- 
cution ensued.  Among  the  victims  were  Sixtus,  the  Bishoj) 
of  Kome,  who  perished  in  the  catacombs,*^  and  Cyprian,  who 
was  exiled,  and  afterward?,  beheaded,  and  was  the  first  Bishop 
of  Carthage  who  suffered  martyrdom.'*  At  last,  "Valerian, 
having  been  captured  by  the  Persians,  Gallienus,  in  a.d.  260, 
ascended  the  throne,  and  immediately  proclaimed  a  perfect 
toleration  of  the  Christians.^ 

The  period  from  the  accession  of  Decius,  in  A.D.  249,  to 
the  accession  of  Gallienus,  in  a.d.  260,  which  I  have  now  very 
briefly  noticed,  was  by  far  the  most  disastrous  the  Church 
had  yet  endured.  With  the  exception  of  about  five  years  in 
the  reigns  of  Gallus  and  Valerian,  the  persecution  wap  con- 
tinuous, though  it  varied  much  in  its  intensity  and  its  r-ange. 
During  the  fii'st  portion,  if  measured,  not  by  the  number  of 
deaths,  but  by  the  atrocity  of  the  tortures  inflicted,  it  was 
probably  as  severe  as  any  upon,  record.  It  was^'  subsequently 
directed  chiefly  against  the  leading  clergy,  and,  as  we  have 
B9en^  four  Roman  bishops  perished.  In  addition  to  the 
political  reasons  that    inspired    it,   the   popular   fanaticism 


'  Dion'sius,     Archljishop      of  — De  Mori.  Perscc.  e.  Y. 

Alexandria;  see  Euseb.  vii.  10.  ^  Cyprian  Ep.  Ixxxi. 

■'•  Euseljins,    vii.     10-12;     Cy-  *  See   bis    Life   by  the    deacon 

prian,  Ep.  Isxxi.     Lactantius  says  Pontius,  which   is   reproduced  hy 

of    Valerian,    'Mnltum     quamvis  Gibbon, 

brovi  tempore  justi  sauguinisfudit.'  -  Eusebius,  vii.  13. 


456  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

caused  by  great  calamities,  which  wei'e  ascribed  to  anger 
of  the  gods  at  the  neglect  of  their  worship,  had  in  this  as  in 
former  periods  a  great  influence.  Political  disasters,  which 
foreshadowed  cleivrly  the  approaching  downiall  of  the  Empii-e, 
were  followed  by  fearful  and  general  famines  and  plagues. 
St.  Cyprian,  in  a  treatise  addressed  to  one  of  the  persecutors 
who  was  most  confident  in  ascribing  these  things  to  the 
Christians,  presents  us  with  an  extremely  curious  picture 
both  of  the  general  despondency  that  had  fallen  upon  the 
Empire,  and  of  the  manner  in  which  these  calamities  were 
regarded  by  the  Cliristians.  Like  most  of  liis  co-religionists, 
the  saint  was  convinced  that  the  closing  scene  of  the  earth 
was  at  hand.  The  decrepitude  of  the  world,  he  said,  had 
arrived,  the  forces  of  nature  were  almost  exhausted,  the  sun 
had  no  longer  its  old  lustre,  or  the  soil  its  old  fertility,  the 
spring  time  had  grown  less  lovely,  and  the  autumn  less  boun- 
teous, the  energy  of  man  had  decayed,  and  all  things  were 
moving  rapidly  to  the  end.  Famines  and  plagues  were  the 
precursors  of  the  day  of  judgment.  They  were  sent  to  warn 
and  punish  a  rebellions  world,  which,  still  bowing  down 
before  idols,  persecuted  the  believers  in  the  truth.  '  So  true 
is  this,  that  the  Christians  are  never  persecuted  without  the 
sky  manifesting  at  once  the  Divine  displeasure.'  The  con- 
ception of  a  converted  Empire  never  appears  to  have  flashed 
across  the  mind  of  the  saint ;  ^  the  only  triumph  he  predicted 
for  the  Chui-ch  was  that  of  another  world  ;  and  to  the  thi'eats 
of  the  persecutors  he  rejoined  by  fearful  menaces.  '  A  burn- 
ing, scorching  fii'e  will  for  ever  torment  those  who  are 
condemned ;  there  will  be  no  respite  or  end  to  their  torments. 
We  shall  through  eternity  contemplate  in  their  agonies  those 
^■ho  for  a  short  time  contemplated  us  in  tortures,  and  for  the 


'  Tertullian  had  before,  in  a  Christo  si  aut  Coesares  non  essent 
cnrious  passage,  spoken  of  the  im-  seculo  necessarii,  ant  si  et  Chris- 
possibility  of  Christian  Caesars,  tiani  potnissent  esse  Csesares.'— 
'  Sed  et  Caesares  crcdidissent  super  Ajjol  xxi. 


THE    CONTERSION    OF    ROME.  457 

brief  pleasure  which  the  barbarity  of  our  pei-secutors  took  in 
feasting  theii*  eyes  upon  an  inhuman  sj)ectacle,  they  will  be 
themselves  exposed  as  an  eternal  spectacle  of  agony.'  As  a 
last  warning,  calamity  after  calamity  bi-oke  upon  the  world, 
and,  witli  the  solemnity  of  one  on  whom  the  shadow  of 
death  had  already  fallen,  St.  Cyj^rian  adjured  the  persecutors 
to  repent  and  to  be  saved.  ^ 

The  accession  of  Gallienus  introduced  the  Church  to  a 
new  period  of  perfect  peace,  which,  Avith  a  single  inconsider- 
able exception,  continued  for  no  less  than  forty  years.  The 
exception  was  furnished  by  Aurelian,  who  during  nearly  the 
whole  of  his  reign  had  been  exceedingly  favourable  to  the 
Christians,  and  had  even  been  appealed  to  by  the  orthodox 
bishops,  who  desired  him  to  expel  from  Antioch  a  prelate 
they  had  excommunicated  for  heresy,^  but  wlio,  at  the  close 
of  his  reign,  intended  to  persecute.  Ho  was  assassinated, 
however,  according  to  one  account,  when  he  was  just  about 
to  sign  the  decrees  ;  according  to  another,  before  they  had 
been  sent  through  the  provinces ;  and  if  any  persecution 
actually  took  place,  it  was  altogether  inconsiderable.-^  Chris- 
tianity, during  all  this  time,  was  not  only  perfectly  free,  it 
was  greatly  honoured.  Christians  were  appointed  governors 
of  the  provinces,  and  were  expressly  exonerated  from  the 
duty  of  sacrificing.  The  bishops  were  treated  by  the  civil 
authorities  with  profound  respect.  The  palaces  of  the  em- 
peror were  filled  with  Christian  servants,  who  were  authorised 
freely  to  profess  their  religion,  and  were  greatly  valued  for 
their  fidelity.  The  popular  pi-ejudice  seems  to  have  been 
lulled  to  rest ;  and  it  has  been  noticed  that  the  rapid  progi'ess 
of  the  faith  excited  no  tumult  or  hostility.     Spacious  chuiches 


'  Contra  Demetrianum.  Italy. 

*  Eusebius,  vii.    30.     Aurelian  ^  Compare  the  accounts  in  Eu- 

decidecl  that  the  cathedral  at  Anti-  sebius,  vii.  30,  and  Lactantius,  Dt 

cch  should  be  gireu  up  to  whoever  Mort.  c.  vi. 
was  appointed  by  the  bishops  of 

31 


ioS  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

vesre  erected  in  every  quai-ter,  and  tliey  could  scarcely  con- 
tain the  multitude  of  worshippers.^  In  Rome  itself,  befoi-e 
the  outburst  of  the  Diocletian  persecution,  there  were  no  less 
than  forty  churches. ^  The  Christians  may  still  haTe  been 
ontnumbered  by  the  Pagans;  but  when  we  consider  thrir 
organisation,  their  zeal,  and  their  rapid  progress,  a  speedy 
triumph  appeared  inevitable. 

But  before  thai  triumph  was  achieved  a  last  and  a  ter- 
rific ordeal  was  to  be  undergone.  Diocletian,  whose  name 
has  been  somewhat  unjustly  associated  with  a  persecution, 
the  responsibility  of  which  belongs  far  more  to  his  collea,gue 
Galerius,  having  left  the  Christians  in  perfect  peace  for 
nearly  eighteen  years,  suffered  himself  to  be  persuaded  to 
make  one  more  effort  to  eradicate  the  foreign  creed.  This 
emperor,  who  had  risen  by  his  merits  from  the  humblest 
position,  exhibited  in  all  the  other  actions  of  his  reign  a. 
moderate,  placable,  and  conspicuously  humane  nature,  and, 
although  he  gi-eatly  magnified  the  Imperial  authority,  the 
simplicity  of  his  priA^ate  life,  his  voluntary  abdication,  and, 
above  all,  his  singularly  noble  conduct  during  many  years  of 
retirement,  displayed  a  rare  magnanimity  of  character.  As 
a  politician,  he  deserves,  I  think,  to  rank  very  high.  Anto- 
ninus and  Marcus  Aurelius  had  been  too  fascinated  by  the 
traditions  of  the  Republic,  and  by  the  austere  teaching  and 
i-etrospective  spirit  of  the  Stoics,  to  realise  the  necessity  of 
adapting  institutions  to  the  wants  of  a  luxurious  and  highly 
civilised  j^eople,  and  they  therefore  had  little  permanent  in- 
fluence upon  the  destinies  of  the  Empire.  But  Diocletian 
invariably  exhibited  in  his  legislation  a  far-seeing  and  com- 
prehensive mind,  well  aware  of  the  condition  of  the  society 
he  ruled,  and  providejit  of  distant  events.  Perceiving  that 
Roman  corruption  was  incurable,  he  attempted  bo  regenr  r a  t€ 


«  Spc  the  forciUe  and  very  candid  description  of  Eusetius,  Tiii.  1. 
»  This  is  noticed  by  Optatus. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  ^59 

tlie  Empii^e  by  creating  new  centres  of  political  life  in  the 
great  and  comparatively  nnpcrverted  capitals  of"  the  pro- 
vinces;  and  Nicomedia,  which  was  his  habitual  residence, 
Carthage,  Milan,  and  Eavenna,  all  received  abundant  tokens 
of  bis  favour.  He  swept  away  or  disregarded  the  obsolete 
and  inefficient  institutions  of  Republican  liberty  that  still 
remained,  and  indeed  gave  his  government  a  somewhat 
Oriental  character  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  by  the  bold,  and. 
it  must  be  admitted,  very  perilous  measure  of  dividing  the 
Empire  into  four  sections,  he  abridged  the  power  of  each 
ruler,  ensured  the  better  supervision  and  increased  authority 
of  the  provinces,  and  devised  the  first  eifectual  check  to 
those  military  revolt8  which  had  for  some  time  been  threat- 
ening the  Empire  with  anarchy.  With  the  same  energetic 
statesmanship,  we  find  him  reorganising  the  whole  system  of 
taxation,  and  attempting,  less  wisely,  to  regulate  commercial 
transactions.  To  such  an  emperor,  the  problem  presented  by 
the  rapid  progress  and  the  profoundly  anti-national  character 
of  Christianity  must  have  been  a  matter  of  serious  considera- 
tion, and  the  weaknesses  of  his  character  were  most  unfa- 
vourable to  the  Church ;  for  Diocletian,  with  many  noble 
qualities  of  heart  and  head,  vas  yet  superstitious,  tortuous, 
nervous,  and  vacillating,  and  was  too  readily  swayed  by  the 
rude  and  ferocious  soldic^r,  who  was  im])etuously  inciting  him 
against  the  Christians. 

The  extreme  passion  which  Galerius  displayed  on  this 
Bubject  is  ascribed,  in  the  first  instance,  to  the  influence  of 
his  mother,  who  was  ardently  devoted  to  the  Pagan  worship. 
He  is  himself  painted  in  dark  colours  by  the  Christian  writers 
as  a  man  of  boundless  and  unbridled  sensuality,  of  an  impe- 
riousness  that  rose  to  fury  at  opposition,  and  of  a  cruelty 
\\  hich  had  long  passed  the  stage  of  callousness,  and  become 
a  fiendish  delight,  in  the  infliction  and  contemplation  of  suf- 
fering.^ His  strong  attachment  to  Paganism  made  him  ai 
'  See  the  vivid  pictures  i  a  Lact.  De  Mort.  Persec. 


460  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

length  the  avowed  representative  of  his  party,  which  several 
causes  had  contributed  to  strengthen.  The  philosoj^hy  of 
the  Empii^e  had  by  this  time  fully  passed  into  its  Neopl  atonic 
and  Pythagorean  phases,  and  was  closely  connected  with 
religious  observances.  Hierocles  and  Porphyry,  who  were 
among  its  most  eminent  exponents,  had  both  written  books 
against  Chiistianity,  and  the  Oriental  religions  fostered  much 
fanaticism  among  the  people.  Political  interests  united  with 
superstition,  for  the  Christians  were  now  a  very  formidable 
body  in  the  State.  Their  interests  were  supposed  to  be  le- 
presented  by  the  Csesar  Constantius  Chlorus,  and  the  religion 
was  either  adopted,  or  at  least  warmly  favoured,  by  the  wifp 
and  daughter  of  Diocletian  (the  latter  of  whom  was  married 
to  Galerius'),  and  openly  professed  by  some  of  the  leading 
officials  at  the  Court.  A  magnificent  church  crowned  the  hill 
facing  the  palace  of  the  emperor  at  Nicomedia.  The  bishops 
were,  in  most  cities,  among  the  most  active  and  influential 
citizens,  and  their  influence  was  not  always  exercised  for 
good.  A  few  cases,  in  which  an  ill-considered  zeal  led  Chris- 
tians to  insult  the  Pagan  worship,  one  or  two  instances  of 
Christians  refusing  to  serve  in  the  army,  because  they  be- 
lieved military  life  repugnant  to  the'r  creed,  a  scandalous 
relaxation  of  morals,  that  had  arisen  during  the  long  peace, 
and  the  fierce  and  notorious  discord  displayed  by  the  leaders 
of  the  Church,  contributed  in  different  ways  to  accelerate  the 
persecution.  2 

For  a  considerable  time  Diocletian  resisted  all  the  urgency 
of  Galerius  against  the  Christians,  and  the  only  measur-o 
taken  was  the  dismissal  by  the  latter  sovereign  of  a  numl»er 
of  Christian  officers  from  the  army.  In  a.d.  303,  however, 
Diocletian  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  his  colleague,  and  a 
fearful  persecution,  which  many  circumstances  conspii-ed  to 
stimulate,  began.  The  priests,  in  one  of  the  public  ceremonieR, 


Lactant.  De  Mart.  Pcrscc.  15.  '  Eusebius,  viii. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  4()1 

tad  declared  that  the  presence  of  Christians  prevented  the 
entrails  from  showing  the  accustomed  signs.  The  oracle  of 
Apollo,  at  Miletus,  being  consulted  by  Diocletian,  exhorted 
him  to  persecute  the  Christians.  A  fanatical  Christian,  who 
avowed  his  deed,  and  expiated  it  bj  a  fearful  death,  tore 
d(3\vn  the  first  edict  of  persecution,  and  replaced  it  by  a  bitter 
taunt  against  the  emperor.  Twice,  after  the  outburst  of  the 
l)ersecution,  the  palace  at  Nicomedia,  where  Diocletian  and 
Galerius  were  residing,  was  set  on  fii*e,  and  the  act  was 
ascribed,  not  without  probability,  to  a  Christian  hand,  as 
w^ere  also  some  slight  disturbances  that  afterwards  arose  in 
Syi-ia.i  Edict  after  edict  followed  in  rapid  succession.  The 
first  ordered  the  destruction  of  all  Christian  chui-ches  and  of 
all  Bibles,  menaced  with  death  the  Christians  if  they  assem- 
bled in  secret  for  Divine  worship,  and  deprived  them  of  all 
civil  rights.  A  second  edict  ordered  all  ecclesiastics  to  be 
thrown  into  prison,  while  a  third  edict  ordered  that  these 
prisoners,  and  a  fourth  edict  that  all  Christians,  should  be 
compelled  by  torture  to  sacrifice.  At  first  Diocletian  refused 
to  permit  their  lives  to  be  taken,  but  after  the  fire  at  Nico- 
media  this  restriction  was  removed.  Many  were  burnt  alive, 
and  the  toi-tures  by  which  the  persecutors  sought  to  shake 
their  resolution  were  so  dreadful  that  even  such  a  death 
seemed  an  act  of  mercy.  The  only  province  of  the  Empire 
where  the  Christians  were  at  peace  was  Gaul,  which  had 
received  its  ba})tism  of  blood  under  Marcus  Aurelius,  but 
was  now  governed  by  Constantius  Chlorus,  who  ])rotected 
them  from  personal  molestation,  though  he  was  compelled,  in 
obedience  to  the  emperor,  to  destroy  their  churches.  In 
Spain,  which  was  also  under  the  government,  but  not  under 
tlie  direct  inspection,  of  Constantius,  the  persecution  was 
moderate,  but  in  all  other  parts  of  the  Empire  it  raged  with 


'  These    incidents   are    noticed     his    L\fe   of  Covstaidine,    aiid   bj 
by  Euseb  us  in  his  Hhtory,  and  in     Lactantius,'  Be  Mort.  Pcrsec. 


462  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MOEAIS. 

fierceness  till  the  abdication  of  Diocletian  in  305.  This 
event  almost  immediately  restored  peace  to  the  Western  pro- 
vinces,' but  greatly  aggi-avated  the  misfortunes  of  the  Eastern 
Christians,  who  passed  under  the  absolute  rule  of  Galeriiis, 
Horrible,  varied,  and  prolonged  tortures  were  employed  to 
quell  their  fortitude,  and  their  final  resistance  was  crowned 
by  the  most  dreadful  of  all  deaths,  roasting  over  a  slow  fire. 
It  was  not  till  A.D.  311,  eight  years  after  the  commencement 
of  the  general  persecution,  ten  years  after  the  first  measui*e 
against  the  Christians,  that  the  Eastern  persecution  ceased. 
Galeriiis,  the  aiTh -enemy  of  the  Christians,  was  struck  down 
by  a  fearful  disease.  His  body,  it  is  said,  became  a  mass  of 
loathsome  and  foetid  sores — a  living  corpse,  devoured  by 
countless  worms,  and  exhalkig  the  odour  of  the  charnel-house. 
He  who  had  shed  so  much  innocent  blood,  shrank  himself 
from  a  Koman  death.  In  his  extreme  anguish  he  appealed  in 
burn  to  physician  after  physician,  and  to  temple  after  temple. 
At  last  he  relented  towards  the  Christians.  He  issued  a 
proclamation  restoring  them  to  liberty,  permitting  them  to 
rebuild  their  churches,  and  asking  their  prayers  for  his  re- 
coA^ery.2  The  era  of  persecution  now  closed.  One  brief 
spasm,  indeed,  due  to  the  Cfesar  ]\Iaximian,  shot  thi-ough  the 
long  afllicted  Church  of  Asia  Minor ;  ^  but  it  was  rapidly 
allayed.  The  accession  of  Constantine,  the  proclamation  of 
Milan,  a.d.  313,  the  defeat  of  Licinius,  and  the  conversion  of 


'' Italy.  Sicily,  Gaul,  and  what,-  of  Palestine,    and    in    Lactantins, 

ever  parts  extend  towards  the  West,  De  Mart.  Persec.     The  persecution 

— Spain,  Mauritania  and  Africa.' —  in  PalestineAVHS  not  quite  continu- 

Euseb.  Mart.  Palest,  ch.  xiii.     Bat  ous  :    in    a.d.    308   it   had    almo.st 

in  Gaul,  as  I  have  i^aid.  the  perse-  ceased  ;    it   then    revived  fiercely, 

cution    h^id    not    extended   beyond  but  at  the  close  of  a.d.  3<)9,  and  in 

the    destruction    of  churches  ;    in  the  beginnidg   of  a.d.  310,   there 

these   provhices    the    persecution,  was  again  a  short  lull,  apparently 

Eusebius  says,  lasted  not  quite  two  due     to     political     causes.        See 

years.  Mosheim,  Eccles.  Hist,  (edited  by 

■^  The  history  of  this  persecution  Soarces),  vol.  i.  pp.  286-287- 
is   given   by  Eusebius,    Hist.    lib.  ^  Eusebius. 

viii.,  in  his  work  on  the  Martyrs 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  460 

the  conqueror,  speedily  followed,  and  Christianity  became  the 
n^Iigion  of  the  Empire. 

Such,  so  far  as  we  can  trace  it,  is  the  outline  cf  the  last 
and  most  terrible  persecution  inflicted  on  the  early  Church. 
Unfortunately  we  can  place  little  reliance  on  any  information 
we  possess  about  the  number  of  its  victims,  the  provocatious 
tiiat  produced  it,  or  the  objects  of  its  authors.     The  ecclesi- 
astical account  of  these  matters  is  absolutely  unchecked  by 
any  Pagan  statement,  and  it  is  derived  almost  exclusively 
from  the  history  of  Eusebius,  and  from  the  treatise  '  On  the 
Deaths  of  the  Persecutors,'  which  is  ascribed  to  Lactantius. 
Eusebius  was  a  writer  of  great  learning,  and  of  ciitical  abili 
ties  not  below  the  very  low  level  of  his  time,  and  he  had 
pei-sonal  knowledge  of  some  of  the  events  in  Palestine  which 
he  has  recorded  ;   but  he  had  no  pretensions   whatever  to 
impartiality.     He  has  frankly  told  us  that  his  principle  in 
writing  history  was  to  conceal  the  facts  that  were  injurious 
to  the  reputation  of  the  Church ;  '  and  although  his  practice 
was  sometimes  better  than  his  pi-inciple,  the  portrait  he  has 
drawn  of  the  saintly  virtues  of  his  patron  Constantine,  which 
we  are  able  to  correct  from  other  sources,  abundantly  proves 
with  how  little  scruj^le  the  courtly  bishop  could  stray  into 
the  paths  of  fiction.     The  treatise  of  Lactantius,  which  has 
been  well  termed  '  a  party  pamphlet,'  is  much  more  untrust- 
worthy.    It  is  a  hymn  of  exultation  over  the  disastrous  ends 
of  the  persecutors,  and  especially  of  Galerius,  written  in  a 
strain   of  the   fiercest   and  most  passionate   invective,    and 
bearing  on  every  page  unequivocal  signs  of  inaccuracy  and 
exaggeration.     The  whole  history  of  the  early  persecution 
was  soon  enveloped  in  a  thick  cloud  of  falsehood.     A  notion, 
derived  from    prophecy,   that  ten   great  persecutions   must 
precede  the  day  of  judgment,  at  an  early  period  stimulated- 


-  F^ee  two  passages,  which  Gib-     viii.    2  ;    Martyrs   of  Palest,    ch, 
bon  justly  calls  remarkable.  {H.  E.     xii.) 


1:6 4  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

the  imagination  of  the  Christians,  who  beHeved  that  day  to 
be  imminent ;  and  it  was  natural  that  as  time  rolled  on  men 
should  magnify  the  sufferings  that  had  been  endured,  and 
that  in  credulous  and  uncritical  ages  a  single  real  incident 
should  be  often  multiplied,  diversified,  and  exaggerated  in 
many  distinct  narratives.  Monstrous  fictions,  such  as  the 
crucifixion  of  ten  thousand  Christians  upon  Mount  Ararat 
under  Trajan,  the  letter  of  Tiberianus  to  Trajan,  complaining 
that  he  was  weary  of  ceaselessly  killing  Christians  in  Pales- 
tine, and  the  Theban  legion  of  six  thousand  men,  said  to 
have  been  massacred  by  Maximilian,  were  boldly  propagated 
and  readily  believed.*  The  virtue  supposed  to  attach  to  the 
bones  of  martyrs,  and  the  custom,  and,  after  a  decree  of  the 
second  Council  of  Nice,  in  the  eighth  century,  the  obligat'on, 
of  placing  sanitly  remains  under  every  altar,  led  to  an  im- 
mense multiplication  of  spurious  relics,  and  a  corresponding 
demand  for  legends.  Almost  every  hamlet  soon  requii-ed  a 
patron  martyr  and  a  local  legend,  which  the  nearest  monas- 
tery was  usually  ready  to  supply.  The  monks  occupied  their 
time  in  composing  and  disseminating  innumerable  acts  of 
martyrs,  which  purported  to  be  stiictly  historical,  but  which 
were,  in  fact,  deliberate,  though  it  was  thought  edifying, 
forgeries ;  and  pictures  of  hideous  tortui^es,  enlivened  by  fan- 
tastic miracles,  soon  became  the  favourite  popular  literature. 
To  discriminate  accurately  the  genuine  acts  of  martyrs  from 
the  immense  mass  that  were  fabricated  by  the  monks,  has  been 


'There  is  one  instance  of  a  11)  confines  the  conflagration  t'>  a 
wholesale  massacre  which  appears  cliurcli  in  whi.  h  the  entire  popula- 
te rest  on  good  anthoriry.  Eusebius  tion  was  burnt;  and  an  early  Jjatin 
asserts  that,  during  the  Diocletian  translation  of  EuseLius  states  thiit 
persecution,  a  village  in  Phrygia,  the  people  were  first  summoned  1o 
tJe  name  of  which  he  does  not  withdraw,  but  refused  to  do  so. 
mention,  beirg  inhabited  entirely  Gibbon  (ch.  xri.)  thinks  that  this 
by  Christians  who  refused  to  sacri-  tragedy  tojk  place  when  the  decree 
fiee,  was  attacked  and  burnt  with  of  Diocletian  ordered  the  destrue- 
all  that  were  in  it  by  the  Pagan  tion  of  the  churches, 
soldiery.     Lactantius  {List.  Div.  v. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    ROME.  4-65 

attempted  by  Kuinart,  but  is  perhaps  impossible.  Modern 
criticism  has,  however,  done  much  to  reduce  the  ancient 
persecutions  to  their  true  dimensions.  The  famous  essay  o( 
Dodwell,  whicli  appeared  towards  the  close  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  though  written,  I  think,  a  little  in  the  spirit  of  a 
apedal  pleader,  and  not  free  from  its  own  exaggerations,  hiis 
had  a  great  and  abiding  influence  upon  ecclesiastical  history, 
and  the  still  more  famous  chapter  which  Gibbon  devoted  to 
the  subject  rendered  the  conclusions  of  Dodwell  familiar  to 
the  world. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  knowledge  and  critical  acumen 
displayed  in  this  chapter,  few  persons,  I  imagine,  can  rise 
from  its  perusal  without  a  feeling  both  of  repulsion  and  dis- 
satisfaction. The  complete  absence  of  all  sympathy  with  the 
heroic  coui-age  manifested  by  the  martyrs,  and  the  fiigid  and, 
in  truth,  most  unphilosophical  severity  with  which  the  his- 
torian has  weighed  the  words  and  actions  of  men  engaged  in 
the  agojiies  of  a  deadly  struggle,  must  repel  every  generous 
nature,  while  the  persistence  with  which  he  estimates  perse- 
cutions by  the  number  of  deaths  rather  than  by  the  amount 
of  suffering,  diverts  the  mind  from  the  really  distinctive 
atrocities  of  the  Pagan  persecutions.  He  has  observed,  that 
while  the  anger  of  the  persecutors  was  at  all  times  especially 
directed  against  the  bishops,  we  know  from  Eusebius  that 
only  nine  bishops  were  put  to  death  in  the  entire  Diocletian 
persecution,  and  that  the  particular  enumeration,  which  the 
historian  made  on  the  spot,  of  all  the  martyrs  who  perished 
during  this  persecution  in  Palestine,  which  was  under  the 
government  of  Galerius,  and  was  therefore  exposed  to  the 
full  fury  of  the  storm,  shows  the  entii-e  number  to  have  been 
ninety- two.  Starting  from  this  fact,  Gibbon,  by  a  well-known 
process  of  calculation,  has  estimated  the  probable  number  of 
martyrs  in  the  whole  Empire,  during  the  Diocletian  pei-secii- 
fcion,  at  about  two  thousand,  which  happens  to  be  the  number 
of  persons   burnt  by   the  Spanish   Tr-quisition    during    the 


466  HISTORY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

presidency  of  Torquemada  alone,'  and  about  one  twentj-iifih 
of  tlie  numbei'  who  are  said  to  have  suffered  for  their  religion 
in  the  Netherlands  in  the  reign  of  Charles  Y.^  But  although, 
if  measured  by  the  number  of  martyrs,  the  persecutions  in- 
llicted  by  Pagans  were  less  tenible  than  those  inllicted  by 
Christians,  there  is  one  aspect  in  which  the  former  appear  by 
far  the  more  atrocious,  and  a  truthful  historian  should  suffer 
no  false  delicacy  to  prevent  him  from  unflinchingly  stating  it. 
The  conduct  of  the  provincial  governors,  even  when  the;y 
were  compelled  by  the  Imperial  edicts  to  persecute,  was 
often  cons})icuously  merciful.  The  Christian  records  contain 
several  examples  of  rulers  who  refused  to  search  out  the 
Christians,  who  discountenanced  or  even  punished  their  ac- 
cusers, who  suggested  ingenious  evasions  of  the  law,  who 
tried  by  earnest  and  patient  kindness  to  overcome  what  they 
regarded  as  insane  obstinacy,  and  who,  when  theii*  efforts- had 
proved  vain,  mitigated  by  their  own  authority  the  sentence 
they  were  compelled  to  pronounce.  It  was  only  on  very  rare 
occasions  that  any,  except  conspicuous  leaders  of  the  Church, 
and  sometimes  persons  of  a  ser\T.le  condition,  were  in  danger ; 
the  time  that  was  conceded  them  before  theii-  trials  gave 
them  great  facilities  for  escaping,  and,  even  when  condemned, 
Christian  women  had  usually  full  permission  to  visit  them  in 
their  prisons,  and  to  console  them  by  tlieir  charity.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  Christian  writings,  which  it  is  impossible  to 
dispute,  continually  record  barbarities  inflicted  upon  converts, 
so  ghastly  and  so  hideous  that  the  worst  horrors  of  the  In- 

'  Mariana  {Be  Rebus  Hispanice,  bers  fled.     There  does  not  appear 

xxiv.  17)-     Llorentj   thought  this  to   have   been,  in   this   case,  either 

number  perished  in  the  single  year  the   provocation    or    ilie    political 

1482;     but    the     expressions     of  danger  wh'ch  stinriulated  the  Dio- 

Mariana,  though  he  speaks  of  'this  cletian  persecution, 
beginning,' do   n  t  necessarily  im-  /'This  is  according  to  the  cal- 

ply  this  restriction.     Besides  these  cuiation  of  Surpi.      Grotias   esti* 

inar<:yrs,  17,000  persons  in  Spain  mates   the   victims   at    100,0(^0.— 

recanted,  and  endured  punishments  Gibbon,  ch.  xvi, 
less  than  deatli,  while  great  num- 


THE  COX  VERSION  OF  ROME.  467 

qiiisition  pale  before  tliem.  It  is,  indeed,  true  that  Lumiiig 
Heretics  by  a  slow  fire  was  one  of  the  accomplishments  of  the 
Inquisitors,  and  that  they  were  among  the  most  consummate 
masters  of  torture  of  their  age.  It  is  time  that  in  one  Catliolic 
<  ountry  they  introduced  the  atrocious  custom  of  making  the 
apectacle  of  men  burnt  alive  for  their  religioun  opinions  an 
element  in  the  public  festivities,^  It  is  true,  too,  that  the 
immense  majority  of  the  acts  of  the  mart}TS  are  the  trans- 
parent forgeries  of  lying  monks ;  but  it  is  also  true  that 
among  the  authentic  records  of  Pagan  persecutions  there  are 
histories  which  display,  perhaps  more  vividly  than  any  other, 
both  the  depth  of  cruelty  to  which  human  nature  may  sink, 
and  the  heroism  of  resistance  it  may  attain.  There  was  a  time 
when  it  was  the  just  boast  of  the  Romans,  that  no  refine- 
ments of  cruelty,  no  prolongations  of  torture,  were  admitted 
in  their  stern  but  simple  penal  code.  But  all  this  was 
changed.  Those  hateful  games,  which  made  the  spectacle  of 
human  suffering  and  death  the  delight  of  all  classes,  liad 
spread  their  brutalising  influence  wljerever  the  Roman  name 
was  known,  had  rendered  millions  absolutely  indifferent  to 
the  sight  of  human  suffering,  had  produced  in  many,  in  the 
very  centre  of  an  advanced  civilisation,  a  relish  and  a  passion 
for  torture,  a  rapture  and  an  exultation  in  watching  the 
spasms  of  extreme  agony,  such  as  an  African  or  an  American 
savage  alone  can  equal.  The  most  horrible  recorded  instances 
of  tortui-e  were  usually  inflicted,  either  by  the  populace,  or  in 
theii'  presence,  in  the  arena,^  We  read  of  Christians  bound 
in  chairs  of  red-hot  iron,  while  the  stench  of  their  half-con- 
sumed flesh  rose  in  a  suffocating  cloud  to  heaven ;  of  others 
^*ho  were  torn  to  the  very  bone  by  shells,  or  hooks  of  ii-on  : 


'  See  soma  curious  information  under  Marcus  Aurelius,      In    the 

on    this     in    Tieknor's     HiH.    of  Diocletian   persecution   at  Alexan- 

Spanish  Literature  (3rd  American  dria  the  popuhice  were  allowed  to 

edition),  vol.  iii.  pp.  236-237.  torture    the    Christians     as    they 

'^  This  -was  the  case  in  the  per-  pleased.     {Eusebius,  A'iii.  10.) 
Beeutions  nt  Lyons    and   Smyrna, 


468  HISTOKY    OF    EUROPEAN    MORALS. 

of  holy  \drgiEis  given  over  to  the  lust  of  the  gladiator,  or  to 
the  mercies  of  the  pander ;  of  two  hundred  and  twenty- se\  »;n 
converts  sent  on  one  occasion  to  the  mines,  each  with  the 
sinews  of  one  leg  severed  b^-  a  red-hot  iron,  and  Avith  an  eye 
scooped  from  its  socket;  of  fires  so  slow  that  the  %actims 
writhed  for  hours  in  their  agonies  ;  of  bodies  torn  limb  from 
limb,  or  sprinkled  with  burning  lead  ;  of  mingled  salt  aud 
vinegar  poured  over  the  flesh  that  was  bleeding  from  the 
rack ;  of  tortures  prolonged  and  varied  through  entii-e  days. 
For  the  love  of  theii^  Divine  Master,  for  the  cause  they  be- 
lieved to  be  true,  men,  and  even  weak  gii'ls,  endured  these 
things  without  flinching,  when  one  word  would  have  freed 
them  from  their  sufierings.  No  opinion  we  may  form  of  ihe 
proceedings  of  priests  in  a  later  age  should  impair  the  reveiv 
ence  "v^ith  which  we  bend  before  the  martvr's  tomb 


END    OF    THE    FIRST    VOLUME. 


